Never Too Late
by Distant Glory
Summary: Post-DoC. In which the remainder of Deepground rebels against its leaders, Vincent is concerned about his son, Shelke's trustworthiness is called into question and Yuffie prepares to sneak. ON HIATUS.
1. Chapter 1

_Started: 7__th__ March, 2008._

_Finished: 9th Match, 2008. _

**11th March:** Minor edits made. Thank you to Shelke414 for her concrit.

**Disclaimer:** The only thing I own is my copy of Dirge of Cerberus, bought legitimately.

* * *

**Chapter One**

In the wake of Omega's defeat, the World Regenesis Organization found themselves busier than ever. They had suffered heavy casualties in their battles with Deepground forces, their headquarters all but destroyed, but the people of the Planet looked to them for safety and reassurance that the threat had passed. Giddy with victory and feeling invincible, surviving soldiers scoured the Deepground complex and surrounding Midgar in search of any remaining enemy forces. But for one almost fatally wounded man, they came up empty handed…

But in the week that had passed between Omega's initial defeat and the start of the searches, several people had come and gone in Midgar's broken streets. And as exulted as the W.R.O. was with their victory, they could not bear to think that another enemy might stalk them so soon. And so it was that no one applied any real thought to the total absence of Deepground's presence a mere month after their appearance. No one thought that it was strange that there had been no bodies discovered in their excavation of the collapsed mako reactors or the surrounding areas. Even heroes need to rest, after all.

And so it was that Reeve Tuesti applied himself to rebuilding what had been destroyed and replacing what was lost. Vincent Valentine gathered up the shards of his former life and tossed them away, facing his future with a lighter heart. Ex-Tsviet Shelke Rui turned her back on the last decade of her life and moved towards the light, determined that the darkness would never claim her again. Beneath the WRO headquarters, in a heavily guarded room spared by destruction, a Deepground soldier slept, recovering from his horrific injuries.

And below Midgar, something bided its time, waiting for the right moment to emerge.

* * *

_Password?_

_xxxxxxx_

_Access denied._

Yuffie Kisaragi, Champion of Earth and Sky, self-proclaimed Conqueror of Evil, heir to the throne of Wutai and ninja extraordinaire glared ferociously at the unhelpful computer screen and wondering if Reeve would reimburse her if she chose to smash the machine with her Conformer. Turning the idea over in her mind, picturing the computer as a sparking pile of metal at her feet, and then considering the situation, she discarded the idea with regret. There was just too much drain on resources.

…She did _not_ just think that. No, really. Yuffie Kisaragi would never in a zillion years think like Reeve Tuesti. Even if she was really tired and it took less energy to remember something he said than to form her own words, because Superninja Yuffie did not get tired by sitting in front of computers trying to hack in to databases. No, Yuffie got tired beating up monsters, saving the world, and liberating materia from unimaginative owners, and…cool things like that.

Man, she was tired.

"I think it's time to call in the cavalry," she muttered, pulling her mobile phone from her pocket and steeling herself to dial the number. For a moment, she regarded the keypad, the looked back at the computer. Put the phone down.

_Password?_

_xxxxx_

_Access denied._

Picked up the phone again, stabbed the appropriate buttons and clapped it to her ear. One ring. Two.

Clicking.

"Shelke speaking."

Yuffie swallowed. She didn't _hate_ Shelke, exactly, but she did dislike her. It was hard for Yuffie to forgive someone who called a sibling a fool when said sibling had just sacrificed themselves to save your life. Tifa _insisted_ that Shelke simply had trouble expressing her true reactions. If she seemed callous or uncaring, it was because she was emotionally stunted and couldn't express herself properly. Yuffie was still debating whether or not to buy this.

But she wasn't about to let on. "Hey, Shelke!"

"Yuffie Kisaragi." Shelke sounded slightly disappointed, and Yuffie felt another stab of dislike. Probably Miss Ice Queen had been hoping for Vincent. "Is there something you required?"

"Yeah, actually, I could use your help." Yuffie congratulated herself on making the statement sound natural. Leviathan, she hated admitting she needed help. "Reeve put me in charge of getting data out of the Deepground system, but I can't get past the firewalls. Can you do one of your Sinappy Net Whatevers?"

"Synaptic Net Dive," corrected the ex-Tsviet. "It would take me several hours to construct a working apparatus."

"But you could?" pressed the ninja.

"I could, yes."

"Then get down here!" Yuffie injected some laughter into her tone. "Reeve wants this stuff ASAP!"

"I shall meet you there," said Shelke coolly, apparently not concerned by Yuffie's discourtesy. Then she hung up.

Shoving the phone back into her pocket, Yuffie retrained her glare on the computer screen.

"That wasn't polite, Yuffie." The ninja felt herself freeze momentarily

"Hiya Reeve!" she said cheerfully, spinning around in her chair.

The W.R.O. commissioner regarded the head of his intelligence gathering with one raised eyebrow, and Yuffie felt herself slump under his gaze. Reeve was one of the few people in the world that had the ability to make Yuffie feel ashamed of herself.

Having let the silence hang for a handful of seconds, Reeve said, "I know you don't like Shelke, but you must at least make an effort to be polite."

"I _did_," muttered Yuffie sullenly. Then suddenly, she shouted, "You should be more angry with her! She didn't give a damn about her sister, when Shalua - "

"Stop it." Reeve's face had tightened at the mention of Shelke's sister, and Yuffie understood that she'd crossed a line. She felt her heart constrict remembering that she had planned to set them up when Deepground had been put down. But then Shelke had come along…

"I didn't mean…" she said softly. The silence stretched. "You probably gathered," she began awkwardly. "But I can't get past Deepground's firewalls. That's why I called Shelke."

"You think she can get the data?" Reeve's voice was still flat.

"She's got a better chance than me," said the ninja honestly. "These guys were really serious about keeping their secrets."

"I can't believe that they managed to keep it a secret," Reeve said tiredly. "It was huge, and all under Midgar!"

"Yeah, well… Shinra was pretty good at covering stuff up," muttered Yuffie. She heard the door whoosh, signalling Reeve's departure, and turned back the computer.

_Password?_

* * *

Shelke Rui rested her palms against the cool wood of the Seventh Heaven's bar, considering the job that she had just accepted.

_An SND into Deepground's systems… Am I capable of handling what I will find?_ she wondered. Records of experiments conducted (including those conducted on her), individual files on soldiers… Was she capable of an immersion in the hell she had only recently escaped? Could she bring herself to act as the conduit for the data that had nearly destroyed her sanity?

The answer was yes. She could. And more importantly, she would do it not because she was ordered to, but because she wanted to. Because it would assist her friends.

Shelke smiled and stood, feeling her heart warm at the thought of helping the people who had already done so much for her.

"What was that about?"

Cloud Strife was standing at the door, looking curiously at her.

"Yuffie Kisaragi requires my assistance," Shelke replied. "Reeve has put her in charge of obtaining a data dump of Deepground's systems."

"Do you need a lift to the WRO headquarters?"

"As long as it does not inconvenience you, Cloud Strife," she replied, inwardly glad she rarely had to ask for anything in this house.

"It's no trouble," Cloud assured her. "I have a delivery to make out that way." He examined her attire. "I have to eat - why don't you go get changed into some warmer clothes? You'll get cold riding a motorcycle in those." Shelke glanced down at her new attire - a sleeveless vest and short skirt.

"I believe you are right," she mused. "Please excuse me." She hopped off the stool and made her way upstairs. From the dresser within one of the guest rooms - which Denzel and Marlene had both taken to referring to as 'Shelke's Room', as though her stay would be permanent - she removed a pair of long, loose pants. Beneath it lay her old Deepground uniform, neatly folded. Feeling strangely nostalgic, Shelke brushed the smooth material with one hand. She would probably never wear the garment again - it represented too much pain - but she had decided to keep it.

"How proud I was the day I was allowed to wear a customized uniform," she murmured. Within Deepground, only the 'coloured' Tsviets had been permitted to wear an outfit that deviated from the usual uniform - except in cases like Nero the Sable's, when the outfit had to be changed according to some unusual situation.

Shaking off the memories, Shelke changed swiftly, putting on a long-sleeved white shirt under her vest to protect her arms from chill. Glancing in the mirror on the inside of the closet, she examined her reflection gravely, nodded once, and then left the room again.

Cloud was standing by the door, finished with his meal. He, too, nodded his approval of her outfit and led her out to the motorcycle, his deliveries already packed into pouches on either side of the bike. He passed Shelke a helmet and gestured for her to climb up behind him.

"I've told Tifa you'll probably be staying at the headquarters overnight," he told Shelke as he pulled his goggles over his eyes. Without waiting for an answer, he revved the bike's engine. The ex-Tsviet wrapped her arms tightly around Cloud's waist, and off they sped.

* * *

Reeve trudged down the half-repaired corridors, brooding. He had assumed that Yuffie would be able to Deepground's database without assistance - Shelke being called in was something he hadn't foreseen. His pace increased. Now, with things set in motion, he could only pray that neither of them would discover why he needed to access the data in the first place.

He entered the one repaired elevator and set it to descend, glad that no one else would see their commissioner panicking. He had done his best to keep a lid on the fact that the WRO was imprisoning a Deepground soldier at all - only a select group of trusted guards and medical personnel knew about their captive, and Reeve planned to keep it that way. If it was discovered by anyone else…

The heart of the problem, Reeve thought wearily as the elevator doors opened and he stepped out, was his own reluctance to just execute the man and be done with it. Deaths in battle were one thing - but killing a captive in cold blood was quite another. On the other hand, he was mostly certain that this particular soldier was far too dangerous to leave alive.

As he reached the one-way glass that allowed him to see into the room that housed the soldier, Reeve wondered why the man couldn't have just been dead when they found him. It would have made things so much easier.

"How is he?" he asked the nurse, who was typing up something on a computer.

"His condition is stable," she replied. "It's not getting any worse."

"But it's not getting any better, either?" Reeve studied the bandages wrapped around the man from shoulder to waist. Spots of blood were already beginning to show through the outer layer.

"No sir." The nurse sighed. "The wounds just won't heal. We've tried everything we can…"

"I suppose that at this point, we should just be grateful that he's unconscious," said Reeve with an attempt at his usual good humour. "Things will start getting tricky when he wakes up." The captive had been found almost a week ago, and hadn't stirred once. If it wasn't for the various monitors registering life signs, Reeve would have thought the man was dead.

"I just wish we could remove that metal," muttered the nurse, frustrated. "But it's all connected up to his nerves, and there are veins wrapped around it, and everything… We might kill him if we tried to take it out." She tossed a tired grin at her boss. "Times like this that we miss Doctor Rui, huh, commissioner?"

Reeve grunted agreement. He missed Shalua's assurance with this kind of matter. She would have known what to do. "Keep me informed," he told the nurse, taking a last glance at the man. "And need I remind you - "

"Not a word to anyone, not _anyone_," recited the nurse with an indulgent smile.

Reeve chuckled despite himself. "I really must stop that," he said, regaining some of his good humour. "I'm becoming predictable."

"Just a little, sir."

* * *

"Here's your stop," said Cloud, pulling up in front of the headquarters. Feeling slightly shaken, Shelke swung herself off the bike, grateful to feel solid ground under her feet again. She'd never ridden on anything that…_fast._ Not where there was a good chance of crashing into something else and breaking her neck, helmet or no. 

"Thank you for the 'lift'," she said, pulling off the helmet. Despite the fact that her legs felt weak and rubbery, her voice was steady.

"You're welcome," said Cloud. "Just call when you need a ride back - or ask Reeve about arranging something."

"I shall," replied Shelke, promising herself that she would never do anything so foolhardy as ask Cloud Strife for a ride ever again. She made her way up the steps, carefully navigating the weakened concrete. She heard a motorbike engine start up behind her, and breathed a sigh of relief as the deep rumble faded away into the heavy silence.

At the main door, hastily repaired, Shelke paused and carefully examined the exterior of the building. Many of the windows showed signs of temporary repairs, and the walls themselves were blackened and cracked from explosions and gunfire. She sighed again, this time with regret, and made her way to the doors, which opened as she approached. In many ways, the lobby that she walked into was in worse shape than the outside of the building - this had been the site of one of the bigger battles. Little of the tiles or walls had survived unscathed, and entire sections of the walkway had collapsed, weakened by the battles fought on or around them. Several members of the WRO paused as they noticed her, their eyes a mixture of confusion, curiosity and outright mistrust.

She could not blame them for their caution. After all, she _was_ a former Tsviet.

"Excuse me," she said, approaching the closest one, a young woman with short sandy hair. "Do you know where I might find Yuffie Kisaragi? She has requested my assistance."

"Yuffie? She's down in Doctor Rui's old lab." The woman's eyes were more curious than mistrustful. "Do you know the way, or would you like me to show you?"

Shelke considered. She knew, roughly, where her sister's lab was, but there had been so much confusion… Azul's reappearance… Shalua's sacrifice… She doubted that she could find the room without becoming lost.

"I would be grateful if you would show me the way," she said, finally.

The woman bobbed her head almost eagerly. "OK, come with me." She led them up the walkway and entered a corridor on the second floor. "You're Shelke, aren't you? Doctor's Rui's little sister?"

Shelke nodded. "I am Shelke."

"Is it true that you were with Deepground?"

"Yes, I was allied with Deepground." Shelke paused, then added, "I was a Tsviet."

"Really?" The woman seemed surprised. "I heard that Tsviets were Deepground's elite warriors…" Eyes widening, she added hastily, "No offence or anything, I just - "

"None taken," replied Shelke, unruffled. "The Tsviets were indeed Deepground's elite - I was their… 'tech support', I suppose. It was my duty to locate the Keeper of the Protomateria. After my mission was complete, my colleague, Azul the Cerulean, was under orders to terminate me in order to keep the information I had uncovered a secret. My sister saved me."

"Oh…" There was a short silence. "So you switched sides?"

Shelke thought about that for a while. "At first, I… In order to locate the Keeper, the neurodata of another scientist was uploaded into my neural - into my mind. The data interfered with my normal thought processes… But people were 'counting on' me, and I didn't want to let them down - so I ended up fighting against Deepground, yes." Shelke mentally reviewed her story and wondered if it had made any sense to the woman walking beside her.

"Weren't you afraid of what they'd do to you? The other Tsviets or whoever?" Apparently it had. Shelke wondered if the woman was used to sorting out incoherent stories.

Shelke recalled Nero, amused by her show of defiance, and her long, shielded immersion in his darkness. "Terrified," she admitted. "I knew exactly what they could do to me if they chose."

"But you went ahead and helped us anyway." The woman smiled at her. "That was really brave."

Shelke smiled uncertainly, unsure of how to respond. The rest of their journey was made in companionable silence.

"Well, here we - " the woman began, just as both females heard a stream of yelling in Wutainese coming from within. For several long moments, Shelke and her guide simply stood there, taking in the unfamiliar words.

"I believe we have found Yuffie Kisaragi," remarked Shelke. "I am grateful that you showed me the way."

"Oh - it's no trouble," the woman assured her. "Good luck with whatever it is you're doing!" Waving a hand in farewell, the woman set back off down the corridor at a jog.

Shelke stepped forward, the door opening, to behold Yuffie banging her fist on the desk beside the computer and shouting what sounded like a string of vilifications at the unfortunate machine. Patiently, the ex-Tsviet waited for the ninja to pause for breath.

"Is this a bad time, Yuffie Kisaragi?" she asked when Yuffie finally fell momentarily silent. The ninja spun around so fast in her chair that the momentum dumped her in a heap on the floor.

"Ack! Stupid floor!" Apparently the shock of the cold tiles had made her revert to Common. "…Hi, Shelke."

"Greetings," said Shelke calmly, extending a hand to help Yuffie up. The ninja pointedly ignored it and got back to her feet on her own. Shelke withdrew her hand without emotion. "You have had no luck?" she asked, glancing over to the computer screen. _Access denied Access denied Access denied_ scrolled repeatedly up the screen in bold red letters.

"No," muttered Yuffie. "Stupid firewalls." She glared at Shelke, clearly irate. "Are you going to help out, or what?"

"I did tell you that it would take me several hours to construct the apparatus for an SND," Shelke reminded her.

"Then get started, would you?" Yuffie plumped herself back down on her chair, and resumed glaring at the computer screen. "There's another console over there - " she pointed without looking, " - and Reeve dropped by earlier with some materials."

With an inward sigh, Shelke moved to the other computer, sitting down and opening a programming command line. The most difficult part of the SND was persuading the 'home' system to allow the equipment that would project her virtual self into the network. After writing the code, constructing the equipment was actually the easy part.

She set to work.

* * *

Vincent Valentine felt, as he gazed up at the Shinra Manor, that he was a long way from home. 

It was a new feeling, relatively unfamiliar, but utterly undeniable. He no longer felt that he belonged in this place, locked away in the darkness to keep himself from the rest of the world. Funnily enough, this might have been one of the few times in his life where he really _did_ need to keep himself away from the rest of the world.

Vincent was justified in sometimes feeling like Fate's favourite chew-toy.

Carefully skirting the massive crater made by Rosso the Crimson's fury, Vincent only had to look at the state of the main room to know that his hopes were long shots at best and complete foolishness at worst. But on the other hand, he had nothing to lose - nothing at all.

Finding the spiral ramp, he began to descend, praying that he would find what he was looking for.

* * *

**Notes: **Updates will probably be sporadic, but feel free to get on my case. Email me, PM me, review, whatever. Just keep on my back. I want to finish this story, and I'll probably need people to pester me. 

The little 'And need I remind you -' 'Not a word to anyone, not _anyone_,' is of course from _Trickster's Queen_ by Tamora Pierce. I won't make a habit of quoting other things (at least, I hope not), but it just seemed appropriate for the situation.

Finally, I should probably make several warnings: One: this story is going to involve a _lot_ of Shelke. I know that a lot of people don't like her - if you don't, that's your prerogative - but _I_ don't want to hear it. Hate her all you want, but don't do it around me. Two: This story will involve serious crack, of the brain-breaking kind. Be prepared.

That's all for now. I hope you enjoyed, and please leave a review!

_ReadingChick_


	2. Chapter 2

_Started: 9__th__ March 2008_

_Finished: 15__th__ March 2008 _

**Chapter Two**

With a satisfied sigh, Shelke sat back in her chair and regarded the makeshift helmet that would allow her to connect with the network and hopefully obtain the data that Reeve needed. It wasn't as sleek or professional looking as the one she had used in Deepground, or even aboard Cid's airship, but it would get the job done, and that was what mattered. She wondered if she would have time to use it tonight.

As she turned in her chair to alert Yuffie that the equipment was complete, the door opened.

"Ah," said Reeve as he stepped into the room. "I see you finished."

"Greetings, Reeve Tuesti," said Shelke warmly, or what qualified as 'warmly' for her. "Yes, I have completed the apparatus."

Unlike most, Reeve did not stop to insist that Shelke could call him by his first name only. He had accepted it as one of her little quirks, understanding that when she felt like using birth names, she would use them. "That's good to hear. However, I must insist that you don't use it tonight. It's far too late for this kind of thing." He indicated the clock at the bottom of the computer screen, which read 11:43 P.M. "You and Yuffie both should get some sleep." Glancing over at the ninja, who was slumped over her desk, he added, "In a proper bed."

"Yuffie said that you required this data urgently," protested Shelke, reluctant to leave her task unfinished.

"Not so urgent that it can't wait until morning," said Reeve firmly. "I insist, Shelke."

"What is your reason for still being awake?" Reeve, who had been moving towards Yuffie, jumped a little.

"Oh, the usual," he said, casual. "Looking over damage reports, checking equipment…" He paused and added, "I had to visit the medical levels."

"Is there a shortage of supplies?" asked Shelke with concern.

"Oh, no," Reeve hastened to assure her. "It's just that some of the patients aren't recovering as fast as we might hope. They're all stable, but we just don't have enough materia to get them all back on their feet as fast as we'd like to."

"Perhaps you should talk to Yuffie Kisaragi," suggested the ex-Tsviet, rising from her chair. "I am sure that she would know where some healing materia could be obtained."

Reeve chuckled. "She'd probably have stolen it from someone."

"You could insist that she return it after your soldiers are healed."

"Once you get to know Yuffie a little better, Shelke, you will realize that she would never willingly relinquish a piece of materia, not even to a friend." He shook the ninja's shoulder gently, jumping back ungracefully as she swatted at him, muttering sleepily in Wutainese.

Shelke smiled, walking over. "Wake up, Yuffie Kisaragi," she said clearly, jostling Yuffie's shoulder. Ever so slowly, like a zombie rising from the grave, Yuffie raised her head.

"Go _'way_," she muttered, blinking blearily at them. "Want sleep…"

"You can get sleep," said Reeve, hauling her up. "_After_ we get you to a proper bed. You can't sleep on the desk."

"Can," insisted Yuffie, but she stayed on her feet, stumbling towards the door. Reeve and Shelke followed at a smoother pace.

"Why did you want data from Deepground' systems?" asked Shelke softly as they traversed the corridor.

"Part of it is for archive purposes," replied Reeve. "We want to have a comprehensive record of Shinra's actions against this world. And we hope that the medical records will provide some clues for helping people like you, Shelke - so we can help rehabilitate those who are mako-dependant, and so on."

Shelke nodded, slowly. There was something about Reeve's tone that struck her as out of the ordinary.

She shook off her suspicions. _I am becoming paranoid. I really do need to rest._

Reeve was speaking again. "How long do you think it will take you to get the data from the network?"

"I'm not sure," she replied after a moment's thought. "A complete dump will probably take several weeks. But if you would prefer me to locate the medical records first, that would only take a day or so. I will need to rest in between SND's."

"Of course," said Reeve as they reached the elevator. Yuffie was leaning against the wall, yawning loudly. "Far be it from me to demand more than you can deliver." He led the way into the elevator, pulling a card from inside his coat and swiping it through a security device, which _bleeped_ at him approvingly. The lift began its swift descent. "You haven't been down here before, have you, Shelke?" asked Reeve calmly, as though the first time she had set foot in the building wasn't as part of an enemy attack force.

"No, I have not," the ex-Tsviet replied calmly as Yuffie scrubbed at her eyes, yawning again.

"We didn't want to have the headquarters near a population centre in case of an attack," explained Reeve as the elevator slowed. "So we built out here. The employee quarters are below the main levels to keep them safe, and the medical levels are below that." He chuckled. "It saves our employees quite a commute." The door opened with a _ding_, and they stepped out into a warmer, more friendly-looking corridor. Yuffie stumbled down a side-corridor, one hand on the wall to steady herself, without saying goodnight. "This way," said Reeve with a shake of his head, leading Shelke to a second side-corridor. "There's a free room just down there - third door on the right. Will you be OK?"

"I will be fine," Shelke assured him. "Thank you."

"It's the least I can do. You saved us all by helping Vincent." Reeve covered a yawn with one hand, his day clearly catching up with him.

"It was nothing. Goodnight, Reeve Tuesti." The WRO commissioner smiled and continued down the main corridor. Shelke entered the room indicated and closed the door, flipping on the light. The room was sparsely furnished, but it had a…_lived-in_ feel. She wondered what had happened to the previous occupant. Swiftly, the ex-Tsviet undressed, placed her folded clothes on top of the dresser and climbed into the bed.

Shutting her eyes to the glow of the light, Shelke slept.

* * *

Vincent tossed aside the final file and rubbed his eyes wearily. Two weeks of progressively less sleep were catching up with him, and his headache had reached nearly unbearable levels. 

The monsters within gibbered and howled, sensing his weakness.

_NO,_ he told them, bearing down with what little strength he had left. _I…will not let you escape. You will not roam free._ Their cries sounded suspiciously like mocking laughter, and Vincent nearly lost what little will to fight he had left in the face of their scorn.

Following Omega's defeat, Vincent had made an important discovery about the nature of his personal demons - namely that the fourth monster, Chaos, had kept the other three in check while the Protomateria kept Chaos subdued. And with Omega's return to the planet, Chaos had followed - leaving the three remaining monsters unchained within Vincent's mind.

The former Turk lifted his normal hand and ran it through his hair, yanking viciously through the tangles. He _did_ have a solution - of sorts. It was temporary, inconvenient, dangerous… but it would keep them subdued, at least for a little while. Hopefully long enough that he could find a more permanent solution.

The monsters sensed impending freedom and redoubled their efforts to get out. Vincent forced them back, more as a reminder that he was the one in control than because he could really afford the defiance. Wearily, one hand cradling his head, he forced himself into a position that qualified as 'upright' and stumbled down the passage. Another five minutes fatigued travelling and a leap down brought him down into the foul, knee-high sludge of the Nibelheim sewers - and to the attention of the thriving population of Sahagin.

Vincent waited until they were in striking distance - another defiance, another effort to remind himself that he was still the dominant one - and then relinquished his body. There was a brief mental scuffle as the monsters all scrabbled for control, and Hellmasker won out. Galian Beast and Death Gigas settled back reluctantly, while Vincent curled up in the furthest corner of his mind and tried not to hear the sound of rending flesh.

* * *

Yuffie awoke slowly the next morning, her mind automatically switching on even though there had been no change to the temperature or the light. Rolling over slowly, her bleary eyes stared at the clock, though it was several seconds before she managed to process the glowing display: _7:03 AM._

Groaning, Yuffie levered herself out of bed, stumbling to the adjoining bathroom that she got for being head of intelligence gathering. A shower, though swift, put her a lot closer to 'awake'. But the Great Ninja Yuffie still needed breakfast to be running at full capacity, so Yuffie headed for the door, flipping off the lights as she went.

Shelke was standing in the hallway.

"Ah," she said. "So this was your room."

"You were looking for me?" asked Yuffie with surprise.

"I am unsure of where to go," admitted Shelke. "Reeve said to meet him at the cafeteria, but I don't know where that is."

"Right," said Yuffie. "Follow me, and the Conqueror of Evil will show you where breakfast is to be found!" With that, she set off down the hallway.

"I completed the apparatus last night," Shelke stated, keeping up easily with Yuffie's almost-skipping stride. "So I should be able to begin retrieving the data that Reeve requires after breakfast."

"Great!" said Yuffie, cheerful. "We'll have all the info on those Deepground creeps in no time at all!" She paused. "Listen, about last night…"

"You were sleep deprived," observed Shelke.

"No, no, before that. When you came in." Shelke's blank mako-blue eyes gave nothing away, and Yuffie forced herself to continue. "I was rude. I'm sorry."

"Was your irritation with me?" asked the ex-Tsviet, tone vaguely confused.

"Well, not _exactly._" Yuffie drew the final word out. "I was kinda ticked at the whole situation, to be honest. Those stupid firewalls - they destroyed my code-breaking software, you know."

"There is a virus in the system that would be released at the activation of that type of program."

"You _knew?_ Why didn't you say?"

"I was not aware that you were using software," replied Shelke, unruffled. "Even if you had been able to halt the virus before it destroyed your program, it would have taken weeks to find the right combination of symbols."

"And you'll be able to get past all that stuff?"

"I have had practice in dodging security measures." Yuffie suddenly frowned, and took a proper look at Shelke. The ex-Tsviet looked - and sounded - tired, and there were faint, dark circles around her eyes.

"Are you okay?" the ninja asked. "You look like you're ready to drop."

"I did not sleep well," said Shelke simply, and left it at that. Yuffie, recognising a losing battle when she saw one (how many times had she seen that immovable look on Vincent's face?), let the subject drop.

"Cafeteria's on Level B1," she said as they reached the elevator. "Just below the main levels." She jabbed the button. Shelke remained silent, though her eyes flicked once over the console, memorizing the layout. The journey this time was a swift one, the door dinging open a mere five seconds after the closing of the door.

Reeve nearly ran straight into them.

"Oh - good morning, Yuffie," he said hurriedly, looking harassed and panicked.

"What is wrong?" asked Shelke, concerned.

"There's something that needs my attention down at the medical levels," replied Reeve. "The D - one of the patients has gone crazy."

Yuffie brightened. "I've got a Sleep materia in my room! If you just - "

"No, that won't be necessary," Reeve cut her off. "We've got some sedatives ready, but I need to check with the staff. There's some issues about what the safe dosage would be." He all but shoved both girls out of the lift. "Yuffie, I need to you to check the reports from Midgar, and Shelke - "

"I will begin the SND as soon as I have eaten," she assured him.

"Thank you," he said, looking vaguely less harried. "I'm counting on the both of you." The elevator doors shut.

"I can't believe he wouldn't let me go get my materia!" exclaimed Yuffie, looking affronted. "It can knock anyone out faster than his stupid sedatives - "

"Perhaps he simply wants them calmed down rather than completely unconscious," Shelke interrupted quietly. "In which case, a scientific sedative would serve the cause better than magic."

"I guess," muttered Yuffie, not really ready to admit that science might be better than materia, even if this was an isolated incident.

"Shall we?" inquired Shelke.

Yuffie shook herself. "Yeah," she said. "Let's go get some food."

* * *

Reeve didn't even bother to check if the corridor leading from the lift was clear before he started sprinting. He had been right in the middle of his breakfast when the call had come, but that was the least of his worries right now. 

Awake. Now everything was going to go get complicated. If anyone survived, that is.

He sped into the adjoining room, skidding to a halt -

A doctor wearing a gas-mask was manhandling the captive back onto the bed. Within the observation room, another man was nursing a badly bruised jaw, while a woman carefully monitored the captive's life signs.

"What happened?" asked Reeve, addressing no one in particular and stunned by the fact that the situation appeared to have been resolved so easily.

"Told you," said the woman at the computer, who was also the one who had called him. "Soldier-boy woke up and went crazy. This idiot - " she indicated the man with the sore face, " - decided to try and calm him down."

"Stupid idea," muttered the man, thought it sounded more like 'stpd dear'.

"Told you so," said the woman smugly. "Anyway, the prisoner went even _more_ crazy, lashed out and got one good kick across Nik's face - "

"W'sn't," insisted the man. "'f b'n g'd, w'da br'k'n m' j'w." Reeve blinked.

"He says that if it had been a good kick, it would have broken his jaw," translated the woman. "But in _my _book - "

Reeve cleared his throat.

"Right! Well, he got Nik good across the face, so Nik hightailed it outta there. And then we gassed the sucker before he could do any more damage."

'Well," observed Reeve wearily. "I suppose it could have been worse."

"Right, sir," said the woman. "At least we know the knock-out gas works on him."

Her boss chuckled. "That's true." Then he straightened. "Still, we mustn't take chances."

"The doctor's already sent one of the nurses off to get some sedatives," said the woman. "And to get a Cure materia for this lug." She indicated Nik. "_I_ say they should let him keep the bruises. Maybe then he won't be so eager to run into a room with an unstable psycho."

"L'v y' too, G'na," muttered Nik. This time there was no translation required.

"How is he?" asked Reeve as the doctor came back in and peeled off the gas-mask.

"He didn't do himself any favours behaving like that," said the doctor, unruffled by the fact he was treating a dangerous psychopath. "He re-opened the wounds on his back. They're never going to heal at this rate."

"What have you been using?"

"Standard fare - potion, hi-potion, elixir. We've tried materia, too, but we've only got low-level stuff. It's good for basic things, minor to mid-serious cuts, first- and second-degree burns, that sort of thing. We can partially mend a broken bone, but that's as far as the healing goes. With something as complicated as this…" The doctor shook his head. "I wouldn't recommend using materia even if we did have something strong enough. Some of the mechanics were damaged when he tried to wrench himself free, there's no telling what kind of damage we might do by just healing it up."

Reeve thought about that for a moment. "So, you can't heal it…But it's too dangerous to take out?"

"It's kind of a no-win situation," agreed the doctor. "We've been trying to figure out how it all works, so that we can either remove it or fix it enough that it won't interfere with the healing process… But we're really shooting in the dark here. The technology is unlike anything I've ever seen before."

"I'm hoping that we'll have the data you need in a couple of hours - by the end of tomorrow at the latest." Reeve sent up a silent prayer to whatever gods might be listening that Shelke's SND would be successful.

"That would be a blessing, sir."

"Excuse me, sir…" The nurse bustled in, handing a syringe and a bottle of pills to the doctor and taking a pale green materia over to Nik.

"I'd better administer this," said the doctor, indicating the syringe. "We'll call you when he wakes up again."

"Thank you," said Reeve. He left the scene.

* * *

Yuffie flopped down into her chair with a satisfied sigh. "You good to go, Shelke?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder. 

"Yes." Shelke placed the helmet over her heard. "Commending SND in three…two…one…" Her eyes glowed amber. "Neural uplink successful." Numbers began to rapidly scroll across the screen and for several minutes, Yuffie watched, mesmerized by the constantly moving digits. Finally, she wrenched herself away.

"Reports, reports, reports," she muttered to herself in a sing-song kind of way, sensing that Shelke was no longer aware of anything around her. Idly, Yuffie wondered if there was some kind of marker around so she could draw a moustache on the other girl's face…

But then her emails came up and she discarded the idea. Too much to do, and besides, Reeve would scold her again.

_You have 23_ _new messages_, said the text at the bottom of the program, and Yuffie groaned. She'd been so wrapped up in trying to break through Deepground's firewalls that she had neglected to check the reports. Now she would pay the price for it - a whole twenty-three messages of dry surveillance and reconnaissance reports, and more would probably arrive while she was reading. Bleck.

For the first half hour or so, she skimmed, checking for anything out of the ordinary - and at first, she thought there wasn't anything. Then, she realized that something was missing.

"Hang on," she muttered, clicking back to the main email program. She scanned the subject lines and felt a chill run down her spine. No report from the Midgar surveillance team. Not today…and not yesterday. Yuffie fumbled for her mobile phone, keying in Reeve's number with nervous fingers.

She heard him pick up, and cut across his greeting. "Reeve, I think we have a problem."

And then Shelke screamed.

* * *

**Notes:** …and everything went straight to hell. 

Mainly because that is an evil cliffhanger, and I apologize. I'll try to have the third chapter up ASAP, but this is where things get a little bit more blurry, so… But since I'm writing these notes at ten to five in the morning, I'll probably have that chapter halfway written by the time it comes to post this one, so if you guys are really lucky, you might even get another chapter by the end of the weekend.

I'd like to take a moment to thank all the people who read, reviewed and Faved/Alerted. Seriously, guys - wow. I never expected to get this much support. I felt so encouraged, and I hope that I can live up to your expectations. I can't name everyone's who's read (I hope you guys know who you are!), but I can send out a special thank-you to the following: **EvilBlanket**, **Sweetsong22**, **Shelke414**, **Malselene**, **Snow-White-Queen89**, **aerisxtifa**, **Dragontalonrebirth**, **KenYasha** and **robertmarilyn**. Here's looking at you guys. See you next time!

_ReadingChick_


	3. Chapter 3

_Started: 15__th__ March 2008_

_Finished: 2__nd__ April 2008_

**

* * *

**

Chapter Three

Vincent Valentine awoke leaning against the slimy wall of the sewers, surrounded by the mutilated bodies of Sahagin and covered in blood. He didn't waste time bringing his mind to full awareness, struggling out of the sleepy haze and reaching out for the presence of the monsters. They had retreated for now, relinquished his body and withdrawn to some deep part of his mind to sleep off the satiation. When they awoke, they would begin the clamouring for killing again.

He didn't feel rested, but at least his headache was gone. Staggering to his feet, he wearily climbed the ladder back into the manor and perched on the desk in the library, considering his next move. The journey to Nibelheim had not been a waste of time, per se, but neither had it returned the information he had hoped it would. Now what?

He needed information, information that was probably hidden on some obscure part of the Shinra database. At the moment, most of the Shinra database was being collated by the W.R.O., thus far kept from the world. People would probably kick up an unholy fuss if they knew, but Vincent considered Reeve wise for making the decision. When they had all of the information collected and organized, they would know best how to begin fixing the damage.

Therefore, if he wanted information on how to control or remove the monsters in his head, the headquarters of the W.R.O. was logically his next destination.

Suddenly identifying the terrible smell in the library, Vincent made a face and was grateful that he hadn't eaten recently.

Before he did anything else, he needed a change of clothes.

* * *

Shelke drifted.

To her mind, the Deepground network was just as dark and forbidding as the real place was - probably because her mental projection influenced the appearance of the system. It looked like a city radiating out from the mako reactor - a reflection of Midgar above it.

She floated above the buildings, searching for her target and unwilling to activate what might remain of the defences until she had to. Deepground had tested their own defences against her, making sure that it would be completely inaccessible even to someone like her - and if those defences remained, her mission was doomed. What she was gambling on was that the defences had been wrecked when Omega hit. Unfortunately, that also meant that part, if not all, the information that Reeve wanted could have been lost.

There it was - the research centre. There were a lot of memories here, hazy memories of blood and mako and screaming. There had been a saying in Deepground: when you became a DG soldier, you were only allowed to fear three things - the Restrictor, the Tsviets and the Researchers. The Researchers had been unethical, sadistic and devoted to the quest for knowledge. Their goal was to create super soldiers, and they pursued that goal without letting morality interfere.

They were all dead now, the Researchers. When the Restrictor was overthrown, Nero and Rosso hit the centre, slaughtering everyone inside. Shelke, for her part, locked the doors so that no one could escape and felt a spark of pleasure as she heard the screams of agony. Her two Tsviet colleagues walked out of the building soaked in blood and darkly satisfied.

And now they were dead, too.

With a sigh, Shelke slowly descended until her feet touched the virtual ground, and approached the doors with head held high. She had kept her normal clothes, but her electromagnetic sabres were holstered by her side. She was taking no chances.

There was no immediate alarm as she opened the door and stepped inside; no flashing light that would alert her to the activation of some kind of defence mechanism. She walked down the corridors until she reached a large room stacked with file cabinets. In reality, there was no such place within the research centre - instead, the corresponding location housed the research file servers. Walking to the nearest cabinet, Shelke gave the first drawer a tug - it opened without resistance. One by one, she lifted the files and watched them dissolve into zeroes and ones - transferring their location from Deepground's system to the W.R.O.'s.

It didn't take long to empty half of the 'file cabinets', but Shelke felt herself tiring. With a sigh, transferring the last of the files, she shut the drawer and turned to go and tried to guess how much time she had spent within the network. Half an hour?

_Your weak body is nothing without mako…_

"How right you were, Azul," murmured Shelke to herself as she turned to go. The virtual corridors were silent; there was no sound other than that of her breathing (her projection didn't really need to breathe, of course, but it was a habit that Shelke did not feel like giving up) and her soft footsteps on the floor. It was still and quiet, a dead system.

Unconsciously, Shelke's breathing quickened, and she picked up her pace. There was something wrong here, something she couldn't quite put her finger on, connected to a slippery, hazy memory -

It was an old memory, very old - pre-Deepground. A room - her mother's room - dark, but with the door opened to the hall. A tall beam of light stretched into the room, like a beckoning pathway. It was quiet, but the quiet felt wrong. Sinister, somehow. Expectant - and malicious.

The silence in the network felt like that now, and Shelke swallowed hard. Deliberately, she slowed her steps until she was back to a normal walking pace, controlled her breathing and concentrated on being alert without really _looking _alert. It was technique that she had perfected before her admission to the Tsviets. If anything was watching her (and she knew that something was), then she needed to appear confident. It would make them hesitate before attacking, if only for a moment – long enough for her to get away, hopefully.

She reached the doors, and put her hand on them. A violent shock threw her backwards, and she felt herself – both her projection and her real body – scream.

* * *

Yuffie whirled, dropping her phone to the floor with a loud clatter. In her chair, Shelke convulsed, the helmet sending rippling arcs of electricity along her body. The steady flow of numbers across the screen beside her had vanished, instead replaced by incomprehensible symbols, then _errorerrorerrorerrorerror_, and finally to the hated red _Access denied Access denied Access denied._

Yuffie swallowed hard, grabbing her phone from the floor.

"Yuffie, pick up – " Reeve sounded panicked, never a good thing.

"I'm here." Yuffie slowly circled Shelke's chair, seeing no way to reach the ex-Tsviet without being shocked herself.

"Who screamed? What's going on?"

"Shelke screamed. Her helmet-thingy's gone haywire, it's sparking – oh, wait…" For the electricity had faded, leaving Shelke slumped, silent, in the chair. "It's stopped… I think her SND went wrong…"

"Yuffie, don't take that helmet off her head," snapped Reeve suddenly, and the ninja froze right in the act of grasping the device. "She's probably still in the network. If you take that off, you'll sever her connection to the real world, and – "

"Okay, okay!" Yuffie shouted. "I get it. Remove helmet, bad things happen to Ice Queen. Reeve, we've got another problem besides this. There's no report from the Midgar surveillance team. Not for today and not for yesterday – and before you even _ask_ why I didn't check the reports yesterday, I was busy trying to hack the Deepground system!" She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down.

There was silence on the other end of the line. "This is very bad," said Reeve finally.

"I've heard nothing," said Yuffie tiredly, flopping back down in her chair. "No weird disappearances. No stolen weapons. Nothing." She paused, a bad thought - a truly _horrible_ thought - occurring to her. "Reeve, what if Deepground's still out there?"

"They found nothing in the complex – "

"But what if they had other complexes? Another base, somewhere else, somewhere we don't know about? Or what if they were just hiding? We don't even have a proper map of the whole complex – that was one of thing things you wanted me to find on their network, remember?"

Reeve sighed, and Yuffie could picture him slumping, rubbing his temples with one hand and holding the phone to his ear with the other. "If you're right, Yuffie…" Another sigh, deeper. "…then we're finished. The W.R.O. just doesn't have enough people left to fight a war."

Yuffie felt a chill run down her spine. "There's still me!" she said. "And Vinnie, and Cloud, and Tifa, and the old man, even - he's kind of good in a fight - " She struggled against the idea of Reeve admitting defeat. "And Vinnie got the Tsviets!" she said triumphantly. "Except for Shelke, of course, and she's on our side. They haven't got their super-soldiers any more. Just the regular kind. We could take 'em, no problem."

There was a long silence. Finally, Reeve chuckled. It sounded slightly forced, but his voice was more cheerful when he spoke again, and that was all Yuffie needed to hear. "You're right, Yuffie."

"Damn straight I am!" said the ninja. "Don't stress, Reeve. We've got stuff to be doing!" She glanced at Shelke. "I s'pose the first thing to do is to get Shelke out of the network, right?"

"Yes. I'll send one of the medical staff up - you said she was electrocuted?"

"Mm-hmm. Don't worry, she's still breathing and everything."

"Well, that's good to hear. I'll be right up."

"See ya then, Reeve."

* * *

Light.

There was…light. Where there should have been darkness.

Nothing to see. Just bright, white light.

It hurt.

But the light was important. There was something to do with light. Something that should be remembered.

Mind hazy. Why was it so hazy? Why was it so hard to think clearly?

The light was…the wrong colour. It should have been bluish. Neon blue, like the stripes on the uniform. This light was warm. Creamy coloured. It was the wrong colour. And it shouldn't be so bright. They would never be so foolish as to put him in bright light. They should know what he could do to them. Fools. All of them. He would destroy them.

Just as soon as he could think properly.

* * *

"Awake so quickly?" The doctor looked in on the captive, who was staring blankly up at the ceiling, straight into the light.

"I'd say he's built up a resistance to knock-out gas," said Gina, her finger hovering over the button in case the soldier needed to be dosed again.

"Apparently so. But those sedatives should keep him quiet for now."

"If he's resistant to gas, wouldn't it be prudent to assume that he's also resistant to sedatives?" Gina glanced over at Nik, who was watching the prisoner with wary eyes.

"I'm not going anywhere," said the doctor simply. "I'll observe for now, and see how long it is before another dose is required."

"Should we call the commissioner?" That was Nik, who had his phone out and ready to dial.

"Not right now," said the doctor decidedly. "That other Tsviet, the little girl? She just attempted one of her network dives, and it went wrong. She's been electrocuted, so the commissioner has called one of the other staff up to check on her. To put this on him at the same time would cause undue stress."

"Would someone please explain to me why we're trusting a Tsviet to get information for us?" asked Gina, somewhat grumpily. She had fought in the Deepground battles, and she had a deep mistrust of anything even remotely connected to it.

"Deepground didn't want her, apparently," said the doctor with a shrug. "Something about not wanting what she knew to fall into our hands. They tried to kill her, too."

"Hmph," muttered Gina.

"Give it a rest, Gina," said Nik, somewhat more cheerfully. "I heard the commissioner talking to the Head of Intel - it's thanks to Shelke that Vincent Valentine was able to beat Omega in the first place."

The captive mumbled something, and all three fixed their eyes on him, listening intently. A steady stream of gibberish passed the man's lips, something about separation, darkness and death. But he didn't move.

Nik was the one who finally voiced all of their thoughts. "Crazy bastard," he said, almost pitying.

* * *

"Physically," said the nurse as she moved her stethoscope away from Shelke's chest. "She's fine. There are no burns, and her heart rate is normal. It's just that she's unconscious." She glanced over at the screen, which was still alternatively scrolling _error_ and _access denied_. "You don't think it's safe to unhook her from this machine?"

"She's projected her mind into the network," said Reeve, examining Shelke with concern. The nineteen-year-old lay unmoving and silent in the chair, her eyes still faintly glowing amber beneath the helmet. "If we remove the helmet, there's no telling what the effect on her mind will be."

"Then I suppose all you can do it wait for her to wake up," said the nurse with a shrug. "We don't know Deepground technology, remember?" Her gaze, Yuffie thought, was strangely intense.

"We're hoping that Shelke was able to extract the information before this occurred," said Reeve, his gaze equally intense. "Though how much of it we're not entirely sure."

"Do you want me to check?" asked Yuffie, eager to be doing something.

"Ah - no, that won't be necessary, Yuffie," said Reeve quickly, a smile quickly plastered on his face. "Would you mind taking another look at the last surveillance report we got from Midgar? I know you would have noticed something overtly wrong when you read it last time, but it would be a good idea to check for anything…odd."

Giving Reeve an odd look, and feeling as though she had missed something important, Yuffie turned back to her computer. The report was just as dry and boring as she remembered, but she made a big deal out of carefully checking every line, and tried to figure out if she had overlooked any detail of the account. After a hurried, whispered discussion, the nurse left the room, and Reeve leant against the bench, rubbing his temples and muttering to himself. Yuffie couldn't _quite_ catch the words, but it sounded distinctly like, "why now?"

"Cheer up, Reeve!" called Yuffie, trying to project her usual optimism. It was more difficult than normal, mainly because every line of the report made her want to scream with boredom - or throw her Conformer at the computer.

"I wish I had your optimism, Yuffie," said the W.R.O.'s commissioner, with the wan, tired smile that was more usual for him.

"Well, somebody's gotta keep their chin up!" declared the ninja, finally determining that there was nothing odd or unusual in the report. "Honestly, if it weren't for me, all your guys would be doom-and-gloom twenty-four-seven, and then where would the Planet be?" More seriously, she added, "There's nothing in the report. If anything bizarre happened, the team didn't say."

"Great," muttered Reeve. "Then there's nothing I can do but send in another team. Would you mind briefing them?"

"Not at all!" Yuffie glanced over at Shelke, still silent and unmoving. "You should scold her when she wakes up," she suggested. "Punish her for giving us a scare like that."

Despite himself, Reeve chuckled. "Don't think I haven't considered it."

With a cheerful grin and a jaunty wave, Yuffie left the room, and Reeve heaved a heartfelt sigh.

"I wonder how much longer I can keep you both in the dark?" he asked Shelke. And then, realizing his inadvertent pun, he smiled bitterly.

_

* * *

_

errorerrorerrorerror

_access denied_

_run fragment program_

_execute?_

_y_

Data scrolled rapidly through Shelke's mind as she struggled to find an exit. To her relief, the data flow came from the W.R.O., and she tried to link with the signal. They were all in danger. Deepground's defences should have been either dormant or active - not dormant _then_ active. It meant that someone had been aware of her SND. It meant that someone was working with Deepground's terminals. It mean that there was still a threat out there.

But as she travelled along the data flow, her mind acting as a conduit, her attention caught on a snippet of data - one that made her stop short.

"It can't be…" she whispered to the data, echoing a past reaction.

Then anger suffused her, and she clawed her way up the data flow, making grimly for consciousness.

Reeve had some explaining to do.

* * *

**Notes:** I'm sorry for the delay in posting this chapter! I blame Crisis Core. Living in Australia, I can't get it yet (and I don't have a PSP anyway), but I watched cut-scenes, read translations and generally got side-tracked by it. Some parts messed up my mental time-line, so I made a couple of alterations to the plot of this story – nothing major, but still a couple of changes.

Apart from that, this is where things start to heat up. Based on my hinting throughout this chapter, who can tell me who the W.R.O.'s captive is?

Special thanks to **robertmarilyn**, **Malselene** and **KenYasha **for reviewing!

ReadingChick


	4. Chapter 4

_Started: 4th April 2008_

_Finished: 13th April 2008_

* * *

**Chapter Four**

Reeve was just considering whether or not it would be an insult to Yuffie's analytical skills to check the Midgar reports himself, _just to make sure_, when Shelke groaned.

"Are you alright?" asked Reeve as he helped her make it into an upright position and lift the heavy helmet from her head. Her eyes had returned to their normal, over-bright blue, but they seemed somehow...colder than usual. This was saying quite a bit, and Reeve felt a shiver run down his spine without really knowing why.

"As well as can be expected," said the ex-Tsviet raspily, closing her eyes momentarily. "The apparatus must have malfunctioned when the system defenses activated."

"Activated?" Reeve swallowed.

"Indeed," said Shelke, her voice a bit steadier – and a _lot_ cooler. "It appears that someone does not wish for you to obtain Deepground's data. I will not be able to access the network again for some time – not until I find a way to dismantle the safeguards."

"How long will that take?" asked Reeve, feeling his heart sink.

"It's hard to say. Deepground's security was designed to keep even someone like me out – it could be some time before I am able to unravel them. More than a month, I would say."

"Is there – no way to speed the process?" Reeve asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"None," said Shelke, and Reeve thought she sounded vaguely smug. Another chill ran down his spine. "But I would not worry. Your captive doesn't need to live, so it's not like you have any urgent need for the data." Reeve froze. Shelke let the silence continue for a handful of deliberate seconds. "What were you planning to do when he was recovered, Reeve Tuesti?" she said, far too softly. "Let him go?" She didn't pause to allow him an answer, but plowed on. "He cannot be allowed to live. He is far too dangerous – more of a threat than you could possibly comprehend."

"_Who's_ more of a threat than he could possibly comprehend?" Yuffie stood at the doorway, looking confused – but also like she was preparing herself for a fight. Reeve couldn't tell which one of them was going to be the target of her anger, but he had a nasty suspicion that it was going to be him.

"The captive in the medical levels," said Shelke, her voice temperature roughly that of liquid nitrogen. "My former colleague. Nero the Sable."

* * *

Vincent was fairly certain that whatever he had expected when he called Shelke, it wasn't this. He was only _fairly_ certain because it was Yuffie who answered the phone, and anything with Yuffie involved tended to be just a little bit...skewed.

"Yuffie," he said calmly, interrupting the flow of words. "Could you please repeat that – in a language I can actually understand?"

The ninja huffed in annoyance, and Vincent repressed a smirk. "I am answering Shelke's phone," she said in an exaggeratedly slow, clear voice, "because Shelke is busy chewing Reeve out for keeping Nero captive on the medical levels."

There was a moment's pause.

"_What?_"

"I'm answering Shelke's phone because – "

"Reeve is keeping _who_ captive on the medical levels?" interrupted Vincent, thinking that he _must_ have misheard.

"Nero," repeated Yuffie. And then, just to crush any remaining hope, she added, "You know, 'the Sable'? Guy with the wings and the creepy mask? Loved his brother way too much to be innocent?" Yuffie didn't sound too happy, which further flattened his already vanquished hopes

"I know who Nero is," said Vincent flatly. "But he's _dead_, Yuffie."

"Well, apparently he's not, because Shelke's _really_ giving Reeve an earful." More quietly, almost to herself, "She's kind of scary when she's angry…"

"Put Reeve on," Vincent commanded, feeling righteously indignant. Or maybe even righteously furious.

He heard muffled voices, and then a rustling click. "Are you going to yell at me too, Vincent?" asked Reeve by way of greeting. He sounded half-amused and half-resigned.

"I might," replied Vincent. "But I doubt that Shelke was yelling at you, even though she had more than enough cause to." He waited for Reeve to say something, but the W.R.O.'s commissioner remained silent. "You should have killed him when you captured him."

"We didn't exactly capture him," said Reeve. "He was trapped in one of the half-collapsed buildings in the complex."

"And you rescued him." Vincent put as much disbelief as he could into his voice.

There was a brief pause. "Yes."

"And just how do you plan to restrain someone who can move from place to place using darkness?"

"At the moment, we're keeping him sedated." A defensive tone crept into Reeve's voice.

"I doubt that will work in the long-term."

"We – no, _I_ was hoping that we could find some clues in the Deepground system. It was supposed to be under the control of the thirteenth force of SOLDIER, and they must have had a way of controlling him…"

"Deepground was not under the control of the thirteenth force," came Shelke's distant voice. "Deepground was controlled by the fourteenth force – and what kept Nero under that control is impossible to replicate."

Reeve's voice, when he spoke again, was distant. "There is no fourteenth force of SOLDIER."

"Not anymore there isn't, no," said Shelke. Even to Vincent, over the phone, she sounded smug.

There was another rustling click as Reeve brought the phone back to his ear. "I can see this isn't an argument I'm going to win."

"If you're squeamish about killing him," said Vincent quietly. "I can do it. I was on my way to W.R.O. headquarters anyway."

"Vincent – "

"Please put Shelke on, Reeve. I need to speak to her."

A deep sigh and another rustling click. "Greetings, Vincent Valentine."

"Hello, Shelke."

"What do you think of Reeve Tuesti's actions?" the ex-Tsviet asked. Her voice was not its usual calm monotone – it sounded more emotional, more normal. She was definitely agitated. Then again, she had spent several shielded hours inside Nero's darkness, feeling her magic drain away and knowing that she was going to die when it ran out – not an experience Vincent would have wished on anyone. Except for maybe Nero himself, just to show him what he did to others...

"Reckless and foolhardy," replied the gunslinger. He could have said a lot more, but decided to keep it concise. Shelke would know – or make a reasonable guess – at how he felt.

The nineteen-year-old hummed in satisfaction and let the subject drop. "What is it that you needed to speak to me about?"

"Do you have access to the Shinra database?"

"Is the information you seek part of the Deepground system?" She sounded wary.

Confused, Vincent said, "It shouldn't be."

"I just attempted an SND into the DG database. The defenses are active, and I cannot pass them." It seemed that Shelke had anticipated his question.

"Ah. No, it should be within the main Shinra system."

"What should I look for?" Vincent smiled to himself and blessed the day that Shelke had come into his life.

"I'm looking for Hojo's records."

"His records in general, or the ones relating to you?"

"Both."

"Vincent Valentine?" She sounded unsure.

"I'll explain when I see you next. I should reach W.R.O. headquarters within the next day or so."

"I understand. Is that all you needed?"

"Yes."

"Then I shall see you soon." Shelke hung up, and with a relieved sigh, Vincent clicked off his PHS.

* * *

Shelke pocketed her phone and mused on what she had just learned. The motives behind Vincent's request were not difficult to guess, and it was another layer of trouble brewing that no one needed.

_So much at once,_ she thought with an inward sigh.

"So there is no way to restrain him other than keeping him sedated?" Reeve asked tentatively.

"Reeve Tuesti, you have already proven yourself too tender-hearted to kill a dangerous enemy while he was incapacitated," said Shelke, keeping her tone cool. "I very much doubt that you are capable of doing what is necessary to restrain someone like Nero the Sable."

"How did you guys keep him under control, anyway?" That was Yuffie, looking and sounding more pensive than was usual for her.

"By chaining him to a pillar for days on end and threatening to kill his brother if he tried to use his darkness."

Silence. "They did that?" asked Reeve, his tone horrified.

"Among other things. The muzzle and the straitjacket, for instance."

"That's…" Reeve seemed unable to find words that adequately expressed his feelings. "Immoral," he finished, lamely.

"Perhaps," said Shelke. "But they could not risk him turning on them." She paused, then added, "Of all the Tsviets…I think they feared Nero the most."

"So, basically…" Yuffie said slowly.

"You have a dangerous enemy who is difficult to restrain, on a level that will probably send him into a blind rage if you ever allow him to awaken properly," said Shelke succinctly. Seeing their blank looks, she added, "There are few things that Nero hates more than medical personnel. Even the smell of antiseptic agitates him."

Reeve swallowed.

Bleakly, Shelke said, "I think that you are beginning to understand just what you've done."

* * *

Sedatives.

He hadn't been able to recognize the effects immediately due to the drug-induced haze, but it was only a matter of time before he could tally the messages his body was sending him with his not-too-distant memories. His mind responded with anger – fizzing under his skin and whispering through his veins. Distant and faint for now, separated from his consciousness by the drug, but gradually becoming clearer and stronger.

He knew this feeling, knew it well. The anger would continue to grow, burning the drug up faster and faster, until finally it burst out of him in a raging storm. He doubted whether anyone on this level would survive it. And as for the rest of wherever this was... He would take his chances. He might not have his traditional weapons to hand, but who said he needed them? He was a weapon in himself – Deepground had made very sure of _that._

Content to wait for now, Nero stared unflinchingly into the bright light and continued to act drugged.

* * *

Total silence filled the room in the wake of Shelke's words.

"Um," said Yuffie. "I know this is changing the subject, and I'm not trying to say that Freak-face down there isn't important – because he's really dangerous and I should know – but I've sent another team off to Midgar. They've all been briefed and warned and stuff, and they're going to maintain communication with headquarters at all times."

Reeve nodded, seemingly relieved to moving back onto slightly more solid ground. "Hopefully we'll be able to discover what happened to the previous team."

Suddenly Yuffie looked over to Shelke and smacked her forehead with the heel of her hand. "Reeve, we're idiots," she said, sounding halfway between relieved and ashamed. "Shelke, did Deepground have any other bases around?"

The look of dawning comprehension on Reeve's face was comical, and Shelke fought down a smirk. "The main base was under Midgar," she said carefully. "And there were outposts and emergency bases in various locations. But they were either cleared out when Weiss ordered the cleansing, or they had been abandoned when the complex was cut off from the rest of the world. Why do you ask?"

"Our Midgar surveillance team went missing sometime yesterday," explain Reeve. "We wondered whether there was a possibility that some of Deepground remained alive."

"Unlikely," said Shelke, after a moment's thought. "But not impossible." Her fingers tapped her thigh. "It would explain the activation of the system defenses, and the disappearance of your personnel."

"That's what I was afraid of," said Reeve softly.

After a moment's silence, Shelke asked, "How long ago did the medical personnel sedate Nero?"

Reeve glanced at his watch. "About an hour ago."

"Do you know what they used?"

"No. Is it important?"

"Very." Shelke bit her lip, such an unusual display of agitation that Reeve unconsciously tensed up. "Nero's body burns off sedatives much faster than usual. Possibly an effect of the stagnant mako in his system. But he also adept at pretending to be much more drugged than he actually is."

Reeve blanched and scrabbled for his phone.

* * *

Gina looked up from the computer console as an insistent ringing filled the room, and tapped the speaker button on the telephone.

"Gina here," she said calmly, her eyes going to the man behind the glass. He hadn't moved an inch since waking up, not even to turn his head away from the light. Privately, Gina was of the belief that he wasn't nearly as dangerous or special as some of her co-workers thought. What kind of super soldier just lies there, even when they are sedated?

"Gina, it's Reeve." The commissioner sounded nervous.

"Hiya, boss. What's up?"

There was a short pause, and the sound of muffled voices in the background. "Gina, we have a possible situation on our hands," said the commissioner. "Regarding the prisoner. I'm going to hand you over to someone who can explain better than me."

"Sure thing," she replied, feeling confused and a little defensive. Honestly, did he think she was stupid? She'd been monitoring the prisoner very carefully, making sure he hadn't been attempting to escape, and constantly checking his life signs.

"Greetings, Gina," said a new voice.

"Um, hi."

"My name is Shelke. I used to…work with…Nero."

Gina's mouth twisted, and she couldn't keep an accusatory tone out of her voice. "You're that Tsviet girl."

"I am," agreed Shelke calmly. "How long ago was he sedated?"

"An hour." Even to her own ears, she sounded hostile.

"How strong was the sedative that you used?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Gina snapped. "I'm not a doctor."

"Please, Gina. This is very important. Nero has been sedated many times before, and he has built up a resistance to most drugs. In addition, the stagnant mako in his system assists in burning it off, far faster than an ordinary human. And he is skilled at pretending to be more drugged than he actually is."

Gina scowled at the phone. "Look, I've been watching him for the past hour, and he hasn't done a damn thing but stare into the light and mutter to himself."

"Gina – " Shelke began, but that was as far as she got, mainly because the sound of shattering glass cut them both off. With an involuntary shriek, Gina thrust herself backwards, away from the cubed crystals, and fell awkwardly from the chair. Scooting backwards, trying to see past the desk, and barely hearing Reeve's shouts for an explanation, she heard deliberate footsteps and swallowed hard, guessing who they belonged to before she saw.

_Looks like you were right, Shelke, _she thought in apology as Nero hoisted her into the air by the front of her shirt. For a long moment, she stared directly into the red eyes that were far more lucid than they had a right to be, both of them completely silent.

Then, voice raspy, Nero asked, "What have you done with my brother?"

* * *

Shelke felt cold all over. She didn't need to hear the muffled words that were making Reeve turn pale – she knew the cadence of Nero's voice. Hell, as soon as she heard glass break, she knew that the warning she had been attempting to give was too little, too late.

_Fool_, she thought, but there was no real venom in the thought. She couldn't blame the woman for not trusting her, even if that had probably cost her her life.

"He's awake, isn't he?" asked Yuffie, sounding small.

Shelke didn't even bother to reply, but turned on heel and raced through the doors and down the corridors, heading for the elevator. She was very fast, faster even than Nero... And that might just be enough. That was, if she could get down there before he started to call on his darkness.

Waiting for the elevator – and the trip down – was nothing short of torture. Shelke could feel her heart pounding, adrenalin surging through her body in response to fear and excitement. It made her breath come short as her body failed to find an outlet for all that nervous energy.

"Hey, you!" said a middle-aged woman as the doors finally opened and she tried to dash out. "Authorized personnel only!"

Shelke dodged around her and sprinted down the corridor. As soon as she saw a ward door, she sped inside and skidded to a halt in the center of the floor.

"Unless you want everyone on this level to die," she said clearly to the nearest person in a white coat. "I suggest that you bring me a double dose of the strongest sedative you have, and soon."

* * *

Nero waited for a whole minute before he threw the woman aside in disgust. Were these people so stupid they couldn't answer a simple question? Then again, they were stupid enough to dose him with a mild sedative and then lock him in a room which, while heavily reinforced, had a panel of glass in it. Not even non-safety glass, which might have slowed him down a little as he tried to avoid cutting himself.

_Never leave an enemy at your back._ That was a lesson that had been drummed into his skull for as long as he could remember. Nevertheless, Nero didn't even bother to check whether or not the woman was dead before he walked out of the room. She was unarmed, and so what if she called for reinforcements? He was in the mood to break some heads.

* * *

Shelke heard Nero before she saw him, and immediately recognized the pattern of footsteps and volume of the howling darkness that said that he was angry enough to tear apart anyone who stood in his way. And even if she hadn't been able to hear anything… Nero had a _presence_, something that sent a chill down the spine of any reasonable person, and made most try to get away without being obvious about it. When you got right down to it, Nero didn't need a muzzle and a straitjacket to signal that he was dangerous – it was something that most people recognized straight away.

And now she was going to try to sedate him. Shelke swallowed and tried to still her trembling hands, waiting for the right moment.

* * *

Something was definitely waiting for him. Nero had walked into enough traps (both aware and unaware) to know the feel of someone waiting for a moment to carry out their plans. Added to that, he had encountered no one else in the corridors (he had thought that maybe the W.R.O. wasn't as stupid as they had originally appeared – at least they had left a wide area of their complex uninhabited around him), meaning that someone had warned everyone else away.

He halted in the middle of the corridor, skin prickling slightly in a signal that the would-be attacker was close.

"I know that you're there," he said softly, and heard an involuntary intake of breath. "Why don't you come out and let me see you? I might even let you live."

* * *

_Liar_, thought Shelke, trying to control her pounding heart.

She heard him advance slowly, the sound of his feet on the tiled floor a whispery slap.

"Too afraid, are you?" asked Nero, still advancing.

Shelke felt her free hand clench, defiance a flame inside her, and she stepped away from the doorway, plainly into his sight.

His eyes widened as he stopped short. "Shelke?"

* * *

Time seemed to stop. He hadn't thought that Shelke could survive such a long immersion in Oblivion, even with the assistance of her Barrier materia. She hadn't been with Vincent and that other girl when they invaded the mako reactor. Had she been picked up by the W.R.O.?

A split second before he felt the pain, he realized that she had moved.

_Stupid, _he thought as he fastened one hand around her wrist, too late to stop her stabbing the needle into his arm. Her eyes narrowed and her fist swung at his head – it connected sharply, a perfect blow, before he had the chance to move, and the world faded away.

* * *

The tight, icy grip on her wrist loosened and fell away as Nero's eyes rolled up in his head and he collapsed to the cold floor. Shelke swallowed hard, tried to calm her breathing, and then considered what she had just done.

_He'll kill me if he sees me again after this, _she thought.

"But it felt good," she said to no one in particular. Then she sat down hard and tried not to go into shock.

* * *

**Notes:** Longest chapter to date. So much exposition... Sorry if that final part is confusing – I tried to be clear, so let me know if it wasn't, okay?

So. The infamous Nero the Sable is a captive of W.R.O. That's not going to make anyone's life any easier, is it? (Just while I'm mentioning him, if anyone wants to contribute any thoughts about his characterization, they will be welcomed with open arms and virtual cookies. I've watched the cut scenes with him over and over again, but I still have trouble pinning him down.)

Thanks to** Sweetsong22 **and **Malselene **for reviewing! You guys rule. Hope that this chapter was long enough for you.


	5. Chapter 5

_Started: April 13th , 2008_

_Finished: April 15th, 2008_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

"Shelke? Hey, Shelke! C'mon – say something!" Yuffie propped her hands on hips and ignored the unconscious Nero. She had come down here on Shelke's heels, and it had only taken her one look at the unconscious man for her to tell that he would be down for a while, given the size of the lump on his head. She hadn't thought that Shelke could hit that hard, but hey, you learned something new every day, right?

The ex-Tsviet blinked several times, then slowly raised her head. The blue eyes looked blank – more so than usual.

With a scowl, Yuffie leaned forward to rap the auburn head lightly with her knuckles. "Anyone home?"

Shelke jerked away, then shook her head as though to clear it. "Your approach to first aid is...interesting, Yuffie Kisaragi," she said, trying to smile.

Yuffie huffed. "Well, I was going to do something if you didn't answer me after another minute or so."

"Pour water over my head?" Shelke suggested.

"I dunno," said Yuffie, propping her hands on hips again and looking around the corridor. "There's no close water source, so I was thinking more along the lines of poking you until I got a response."

Shelke giggled, a hysterical note in her voice, then clapped a hand over her mouth. Yuffie blinked, then offered a hand. "You're really shaken up, aren't you?"

"I am," Shelke said faintly, accepting the help up. She glanced down at Nero. "As good as it felt... I can't believe I actually punched him."

"I was going to compliment you on that," observed the ninja. "That was a good hit. He'll be out for at least an hour." She perked up. "We could save on sedatives and just have you punch him out every time he wakes up!"

Shelke swallowed. "I don't think I could." The ninja glanced her, confused. "I gave him the sedative – he grabbed my wrist – I just...reacted." Shelke's voice was soft, distant.

Yuffie grasped her shoulder gently and shook her a little. "It's probably a good thing you did." There was no flippancy in her voice now. "Before he...you know...used that darkness of his."

"Mm," said Shelke, still sounding faint.

"C'mon," said Yuffie, steering the ex-Tsviet away. "The meds are coming to get him, so let's sit you down and get you something to drink."

* * *

"How are you feeling?" asked Reeve an hour later.

"Much better," Shelke replied, honestly. At least she no longer had the urge to giggle hysterically at everything.

"You saved a lot of lives, Shelke." Reeve turned to examine the screen of the computer, where there was a live feed from the new Midgar surveillance team.

"I'm glad of that," she murmured.

"I did wonder, though..."

"...why I nearly went into shock afterwards?"

A pause. "Well, yes."

"I don't think that it is something that you can understand, Reeve Tuesti."

"You never know." He smiled at her. "_I'll_ certainly never know if you don't let me try."

Shelke gave him a long, steady look, but Reeve didn't look away. The ex-Tsviet was the first to drop her eyes. "From the first moment in Deepground," she began, "it is drummed into you; _obey your superiors._ Even if you could beat them in a straight fight, if they were of a higher rank, you had to obey." She waited for Reeve to comment, but he remained silent, so she continued. "It is repeated so often, and has such terrible punishments for disobedience, that soon it becomes habit to defer. You would not even consider striking a superior."

"And Nero was your superior?"

"Of course." Shelke's surprise at the question was evident in her voice. "He was second-in-command, and Weiss' brother. Besides…" And her voice dropped to a whisper. "The punishment for disobeying Nero was far more terrible than anything the Restrictors could devise…"

"His darkness." Reeve sounded contemplative.

Shelke could only nod wordlessly, and for several long moments they sat in silence.

"Why hasn't he used it yet?" Reeve sounded worried.

"He was still mildly sedated an hour ago, so he couldn't risk teleporting. He obviously didn't consider Gina enough of a threat to use it on her, and I don't think he saw anyone else before me." She looked up. "Nero is not immune to the effects of his own darkness, and even though it is his most powerful weapon…. He does not use it flippantly."

That didn't tally with what Reeve had heard. "But from all reports, he was using it quite regularly a few weeks ago…"

"Because it was necessary." Shelke's tone brooked no argument. "Because he needed to speed Omega's awakening as much as possible. Not because he wanted to."

Another silence, and Reeve turned back to the video feed, leaving Shelke to her own thoughts.

…_I think I defended Nero the Sable. What on the Planet is wrong with me?_

* * *

Vincent leant against the rail of the ferry, letting his wildly blowing cloak act as a deterrent to anyone who might have wanted to talk to him. Since no one had tried to randomly approach him for conversation, he assumed that it was working. He was trying not to think about the distasteful task that awaited him at W.R.O. headquarters.

Yes, Vincent had been a Turk, and yes, Nero was a dangerous enemy who could not be allowed to live. But it still left a bad taste in his mouth that he would have to kill the man in cold blood. And if he wanted to be strictly honest with himself, he pitied Nero. Maybe even felt a bit responsible for him – after all, it was his own father's research that had led to the Tsviet's creation. That had been a nasty shock, one he would have preferred to avoid if he had been given the choice.

_I wonder what Father would have thought of it._ Vincent thought about that for a moment. _…I wouldn't have wanted to be one of the Deepground scientists if he had discovered what his research was being used for._

Perhaps it had been all for the best that Grimoire had died in that lab accident. Had he lived long enough to see what Shinra had done, he would have spoken out – vehemently – against it. And that would have meant that he required 'silencing'. And if Vincent followed that thought through to its logical conclusion…

Yes, his father's loss had hurt, but at least he had been spared the thought of one of his colleagues – or even, Planet forbid, Vincent himself – being the one who was responsible for his death.

Vincent allowed himself another moment to make sure that the thought would not require further contemplation before he abandoned it. He heard shuffling footsteps and an increase in the volume of conversation, and noted with some surprise that they had pulled into Junon.

_Maybe Yuffie is right,_ he thought with some amusement as he moved off the boat. _Maybe I do think too much._

The crowd from the ferry dispersed as they shuffled onto the main streets, and soon Vincent had personal space again. He shifted the small pack on his back a little so that its contents didn't poke into his back, and set off down the street, making steadily for the outside of town. He could have spent the night in an inn – at noon, it was already too late to make it all the way to W.R.O. headquarters today – but he didn't want to spend the afternoon kicking his heels and waiting for the monsters to reawaken. Besides, if he failed to control them…

Well, he didn't want to think about the slaughter they would create. All in all, it was safer for him to keep moving.

Making sure that Cerberus was fully loaded and completing a mental checklist of his supplies, Vincent left Junon and set off into the wilderness.

* * *

"Are you sure this isn't going to harm him? These doses would be, well, _lethal_ normally…"

_If they were lethal, I'd tell you to go ahead anyway._ "I'm sure."

With a sigh and a shrug that seemed to say, _you're the boss,_ the young doctor slid the needle into the still-unconscious Nero's arm.

After the Tsviet's escape attempt three hours ago, Shelke's word on how to control their captive had been accepted as all but law, which was why she was back down on the medical levels, overseeing another dose of sedatives. She had noted, with a nervous thrill of satisfaction, that her ex-teammate sported a large purplish blue lump on his head where she had hit him – and he still hadn't woken up.

The young doctor was speaking. "So, did you know him well?"

"Not really," said Shelke honestly. "I tried to stay out of his way."

"Oh. He was really surprised to see you – I thought you might have been friends, or something."

Shelke blinked, surprised and a little amused by the naïve assumption. "Nero had no friends. The only person he cared about was his brother."

"Weiss?"

Shelke nodded. "Weiss and Nero were devoted to each other – they cared more about each other than they did about anyone else in Deepground."

"Does he know?" The doctor gestured to Nero. "That his brother's dead?"

"I doubt it. We'd have known if he did." Catching the confused look, she explained, "If Nero knew that Weiss was dead, he would have either been homicidal or suicidal." Her lips thinned slightly in what _might_ have been a sardonic smile. "He has never done anything emotional by halves."

"Ah, Shelke," said a new voice. The ex-Tsviet twisted around to look at the newcomer – another white-coated doctor, perhaps in his late thirties. "It _is_ Shelke, isn't it?"

"It is. I don't believe I've met you before."

"I'm Dr. Ander," said the man, extending a hand. Shelke shook it briefly. "I understand that you worked with this young man," indicating Nero with a nod of his head.

"If you could call it that."

"I was wondering if you could tell me about the machinery in his back." Dr. Ander gestured for the younger doctor to help him heave Nero upright, then peeled off the shirt, revealing the layers of bandages beneath, spotted with blood.

Shelke swallowed hard, feeling herself go several shades paler. She had been suffering from an overdose of mako administered by a junior Researcher at the time that Nero had been brought in for the surgery that would give him his cybernetic wings. There were far too many memories of his agonized screams and the howl of his darkness for her to feel comfortable about what the doctor was asking her.

"I should warn you," she said as the doctor began unwrapping the bandages. "I do not know enough about the technology that went into this to make extensive repairs."

"You know more than us," said the doctor, peeling back the dressing and revealing ugly, gaping wounds running halfway down Nero's back on either side of his spine. Shelke steeled herself to approach. "The appendages themselves were trapped beneath some rubble in one of the partially-collapsed buildings within the Deepground complex," he said. "We had to break them in order to free him, but he had clearly attempted to wrench himself free before we arrived, and had done considerable damage to himself."

"I can see that," observed the ex-Tsviet._ Nero, even for you, this was foolish_. "These - " she gestured to the bloody metal stubs that protruded from the wounds, " - would normally be beneath the skin. They served as a counterbalance to ensure that the wings would not be ripped from his shoulders when he stood." Her eyes ran further up, and she almost gagged at the bloody mess that greeted her. "Th-the Researchers had to rebuild the structure of his shoulders to take the limbs," she said, not surprised to hear her voice shake a little.

"Are you alright?" asked Dr. Ander, concern written on his face.

Shelke shook her head, though whether it was to clear it or to deny thats she was alright was not clear to her. "I was also under the...'care'...of the Researchers when these were...installed. The memories are not pleasant."

"Well, I think you've given us enough to be going on with," said Dr. Ander, reaching for some fresh bandages and gesturing her back. "I'm sorry to have caused you discomfort." Deftly, he pressed another dressing to the wounds. "They haven't started to heal properly, not it over a week. And he's ripped them open twice in these past two days by moving around. I'm surprised he was able to walk."

_This is not the greatest pain he has endured. _"Deepground expected us to be able to fight no matter how tired we were or how badly we were injured."

"I've never understood how anyone could be so devoid of morality as to train people to fight when their bodies tell them no more," replied the doctor. "Your sick bays must have been full a large percentage of the time."

"Not really," said Shelke softly. "If you couldn't keep up, you died."

His hands didn't falter, but the doctor looked suddenly weary. "What a mess."

At that moment, Shelke frowned and came back over. Then, frown deepening, she circled the bed, watching Nero closely the whole time.

"Shelke?"

"This is not right," she murmured, more to herself than to the doctor. Reaching forward hesitantly, she grasped a handful of Nero's hair and gave it a sharp tug. No response.

"Shelke, why in the name of the Planet are you pulling his hair?" Dr. Ander looked halfway between amusement and sending her out of the room for inappropriate behavior. The younger doctor was shaking with silent laughter.

"You are aware that he was called 'the Sable' for a reason, weren't you?" Shelke's voice held no amusement.

"Because of the darkness that he wields, yes," replied Dr. Ander.

"That darkness should be present. It is never entirely gone." Shelke circled the bed, checking again. "He is wounded, in pain and under sedation. We should not be able to stand here safely."

"Is it bad that the darkness is gone?" enquired the young doctor.

"No…" said Shelke, drawing the syllable out a little. "But it is unusual – _very_ unsual."

"Well, if it isn't dangerous…" said Dr. Ander. "We'll have to worry about it later."

Shelke made a small noise of dissatisfaction, but let the subject drop. As the older doctor examined his patient, she continued to watch Nero with a focused, slightly paranoid, intensity.

* * *

"Anything to report?" asked Yuffie, lounging in her computer chair and toying with her PHS.

"Not so far, ma'am," said the leader of the surveillance team, sounding like he was trying to hide his boredom. "There's nothing but wrecked buildings and silence out here."

"Well, there's gotta be _something_," said Yuffie, beginning to doubt that there was and feeling slightly defensive because of it. "Keep looking."

"Yes, ma'am."

Yuffie watched the feed broodingly, seeing only ruins and hearing only the crunch of footsteps and the sound of slightly labored breathing – the ruined city of Midgar could be quite an obstacle course. If it hadn't been for the danger of the mako radiation, which could be harmful on a long-term basis, she would suggest it as a training camp for the W.R.O. soldiers. But she couldn't, so she sighed, tossed her PHS from hand to hand and waited for something to happen.

"Hang on," said the leader, slowly. "Over on the left, there…" The person holding the camera directed it shakily at the direction their leader was indicating. Even with the grainy quality, Yuffie could clearly see the scrap of red that was attracting the attention.

"Looks like one of ours," said a female voice.

Slowly, the group advanced, with much furtive muttering. As they came closer, Yuffie could see that it was indeed a W.R.O. soldier – a young woman, slumped against the side of a building and pressing a hand over her leg.

"Someone get the med-pack," called a male voice.

"Keep your voice down!" snapped the leader. "Report, soldier. Where's the rest of your unit?"

"Sir!" said the woman, trying to salute. "They were captured by Deepground soldiers!"

Yuffie's head thumped onto the desk.

"Explain, soldier," said the leader gruffly. "And never mind with the saluting nonsense. You're injured."

"Thank you, sir. We were conducting our surveillance rounds when we heard gunshots. We went to investigate – "

"All of you?"

"No, sir. We sent a scout ahead."

"Good, otherwise I'll have your superior's guts for garters when we get them back."

"You wear garters, sir?" enquired a smirking male voice.

"Quiet, Jefferson. Go on, soldier."

"Sir. We sent our scout ahead, who reported that there were several people moving around in the next building, but that they hadn't been able to find a good vantage point from which to observe them. We decided it was better to be safe than sorry, so we surrounded the building and ordered them to come out. We thought that maybe it was some of our unit who had gotten lost."

"But it wasn't."

"No, sir. We heard more gunshots, so we took cover. Then we heard another volley, coming from behind us. There was some confusion, and – Well, we lost our heads. We started firing, and there were retaliating shots. Several of us went down, myself included. I was wedged between two buildings, so they didn't see me when they gathered up the rest of the unit. I don't think anyone was killed."

"Ma'am?" asked the leader, addressing Yuffie. "What do you think of this?"

"I think that we're in trouble," said Yuffie simply. "I'm going to call the commissioner and let him know what's going on – and I want _all_ of you to get out of there _now._"

"But, ma'am, my unit…"

"There's nothing we can do about that now," interrupted the ninja. "Pull out."

"Yes, ma'am. Do you want us to stay on the line?"

Yuffie considered for a moment. "Yeah, but close the feed. That'll just slow you down."

The computer screen went blank as the camera was turned off. "We'll see you back at base, ma'am."

"Looking forward to it." Yuffie flipped open her PHS and started dialing.

* * *

**Notes:** Well, aren't you guys lucky? I did say back at the start that updates would be sporadic, but I must admit I expected there to be longer gaps between chapter updates. I guess I underestimated how encouraging some people would be. On that note, massive thanks to **Sweetsong22 **and **KenYasha** for reviewing! You guys rock my socks.

Vincent begins to come into play a little more. When I originally came up with the thought that sparked this whole plot (not quite sure how long it'll be before that comes into play – maybe halfway through the story at the rate I'm going), it was much more Vincent-centric, for reasons that will become obvious later. Somewhere between the original idea and the first chapter, Shelke edged into the spotlight – and I liked her there.

Can't say anything more without giving away plot-points, so I'll see you guys next time. Reviews would be kind of nice – and feel free to tell me what you're thinking about the characters/plots/whatever. I enjoy reading them.

ReadingChick


	6. Chapter 6

_Started: April 16__th__ 2008_

_Finished: April 18__th__ 2008_

_**Warning:**_ This chapter contains the crack that I warned you about in the first chapter. It could boggle your mind, or maybe even break it. Not for the faint of heart!

* * *

**Chapter Six**

Shelke glanced over both shoulders furtively, checking that she was alone in the room, before she allowed herself to rub at her eyes tiredly and let her shoulders slump. It had been a long day – a _very_ long day – and hard on her nerves. She was already involuntarily twitching at every bleep from her computer.

At first, she had been almost certain that Nero was somehow resisting the sedatives they were pumping him full of and withholding his darkness so that they would let down their guard. That had seemed progressively less and less likely, but she was still deeply suspicious of the lack of dark spheres and wisps that normally accompanied Nero's presence. She didn't know what it could mean – but she was determined that whatever it was, she was going to find out. Hence her presence on the computer.

Nero's medical file was extensive, and linked to several others, including cybernetics and the stagnant mako research of Grimoire Valentine. She had set the cybernetics file aside for the doctors after glancing over the contents, and left the stagnant mako research for herself, before directing her attention to the main file.

It was harder than she had anticipated to read about the experiments. More than once, she shuddered involuntarily, still hearing the echo of Nero's screams in her head. The antiseptic smell of the medical levels was pervasive – if she closed her eyes, it was almost like –

"No," she said aloud, firmly. _Another time. Another place._ She smiled a little to herself. _Another life._

Yes, another life. Shelke Rui was not the same as Shelke the Transparent – but there were similarities, and of course, the same memories. Which meant it wasn't any easier to read about another's pain when they had been subjected to similar violations – even if that other was Nero the Sable.

(There were a lot of references to the subject's 'lack of co-operation'. Personally, hating the Researchers more than she hated Nero, Shelke hoped that more than a few of them had fallen victim to Oblivion.)

After fifteen minutes of careful reading, she had determined that Nero had ever previously withheld his darkness in such a manner, it hadn't been recorded. However, one line had caught her eye: _Subject's resilience to effects of stagnant mako possibly genetic (see subject HJ537V)_.

_Genetic? _A shiver ran over her skin. There was a phrase that someone (her mother? Shalua?) had used to describe such a feeling: _someone walking over your grave._ That hadn't made much sense to Shelke then, and it didn't make much sense now, but the description matched the deep sense of _wrongness_ that shivered over her skin when she read that line. Slowly, mechanically, she scrolled down until she reached the bottom of the file, where they had placed several 'Related Links'.

_HJ537V_ was the first link.

For several long moments, she examined the link, the cursor hovering over it. Then, before she could change her mind, she double-clicked. The page opened, the picture loading to reveal –

"What?" she whispered, eyes wide in disbelief. Then the full implications dawned on her, and she looked to the floor, feeling her breath come short in her lungs and ice crawl over her skin.

It was some time before she closed her eyes, feeling them sting as they re-hydrated, and leaned back in her chair, trying to assimilate what she just learned. Unfortunately, all her mind could come up with was a single thought, repeating over and over.

Wearily, she shut down the computer and walked to the elevator, wondering if and when she could announce this latest revelation, and to whom she should reveal it.

* * *

Outside the W.R.O., two soldiers were standing guard over the main entrance. Once, this had been a token observation, and nothing more. But ever since Deepground's first strike against the headquarters, guard duty had become an extremely serious business – it could mean life or death for the many people inside the building.

Nik knew this, but that didn't stop him from yawning widely and blinking rapidly.

"You think you've got it bad," said his companion. "I've got this until midnight, and I have a couple of reports due tomorrow, which means I'm going to get _no_ sleep tonight."

Nik didn't reply.

"Why're you so tired, anyway?" continued the man on the other side. "You've had it cushy today – working down on the med levels."

"It's not cushy," said Nik, an irritated edge to his voice.

"Yeah, right." The mockery in the other man's voice was palpable. "What is there to do on the med level?"

_Guard a Tsviet._ But Nik didn't say it aloud – if the man didn't know who they were keeping prisoner, so much the better for him. He'd learn soon enough, anyway.

"It's not cushy," he repeated, instead.

The man on the other side of the door snorted. "If you ask me – "

But Nik never knew what the other man would have said if you had asked, because he felt a stinging pain in his neck and fell headlong into darkness.

* * *

The soldier swept the barrel of his gun carefully from side to side, checking for any more sentries, before lowering it.

"Targets neutralized," he murmured.

"Well done," said a measured woman's voice. "Move in."

The soldier and his companion crept out of cover, moving swiftly to the two sedated guards and dragging them back into the bushes. Then, just as swiftly, they stripped their uniforms of the customary armour and their captives of their clothes. Dressing in the W.R.O.'s uniform, they checked for access cards and weapons.

"Ready?" asked the second soldier as they finished.

The first nodded.

"Move in," repeated the woman's voice, and the two obeyed.

The doors opened at the swipe of the cards, and the two disguised soldiers moved carefully into the lobby. It was, predictably, empty. They moved to the elevators, swiping the card through again as they keyed in the correct level. Patiently, they waited for it to descend, trying not to revert to their normal, at-attention stance. The W.R.O. would be sure to notice.

The medical levels were not as silent as the upper levels, but the corridor that the elevator opened onto was still empty. The two soldiers stepped into the closest empty room, reloaded their weapons with the special bullets and carefully fitted silencers. Then, brandishing the guns, they walked into the first ward. Only the patient on the end was awake, quickly dealt with.

The next two wards were silent, the third empty. The fourth was trickier – three doctors clustered at the end. The third one managed a squeak before he, too, was silenced.

Most of the other rooms they passed were empty.

Finally, they found what they were looking for.

"In here," murmured the first soldier, beckoning. The second approached silently. Within the room there were two guards, one in each corner, and a doctor just in the process of sliding a needle into the fourth, unconscious, person's arm.

They took out the guards first. The doctor tried to turn, to see what was happening, and managed a half revolution before sliding to the ground, the needle clattering to the floor. The second soldier carefully picked it up and pocketed it as the first checked the patient's life signs.

"He lives," he said.

"Then let's move out," said the second. As his companion reloaded the gun in case of unforeseen circumstances on the way out, the first strapped the gun to his back and easily lifted the patient, trying not to jostle the wounds on his back.

They made it to the elevator without further incident, the captive still and silent in the arms of the first soldier. As the elevator door opened, the second soldier stepped out and performed an observation sweep before gesturing to his companion. They walked out of the front door as easily as they had walked in.

"Mission accomplished," said the first as he carefully leant the captive against a tree and began stripping off the W.R.O. uniform.

"Well done," said the woman's voice. "Meet us back at headquarters."

It took them all of five minutes to redress the W.R.O. sentries and set them down on either side of the door. With luck, it would be morning before the World Regenesis Organization realized what had happened, by which time they would be long gone.

The two soldiers set off back into the wilderness, the W.R.O.'s former captive carried between them.

* * *

It was early morning when Vincent arrived at his destination.

He had travelled through the night, feeling the monsters awaken late afternoon yesterday and begin whispering to him of slaughter and death, and how nice it would be to drink the hot blood that flowed from the kill…

That was about the point where he simply switched off, concentrating on the movement of his feet and ignoring the murmurs at the back of his mind. It was good that he had come across several physical monsters – though he point blank refused to drink any of the blood (partially because it would probably poison him and partially because he didn't want to imagine what his friends would think if they found out) the kills kept the monsters quieter than they might have been.

He was tired and feeling slightly numb, which was probably why he didn't notice that the sentries were asleep until he was nearly to the door. For Vincent, who took guard duty extremely seriously, the idea of falling asleep on duty was intolerable, which was why he frowned angrily and went over to the one on the left, grasping the man by the shoulder and giving him a rough shake.

No response. Vincent shook again.

"Wake up," he growled. The man didn't stir. Vincent's frown deepened. Swinging his pack off his back, he opened it up and retrieved a Phoenix Down. Technically used to revive a comrade knocked out in battle, he had discovered through experimentation that it could also be used on a deep sleeper if you needed someone awake and aware in a hurry. Crouching beside the man, he tilted the head back and carefully poured a little of the liquid down the man's throat.

No gurgling, which meant that the man wasn't choking. Vincent tilted the bottle a little further. A soft glow grew around the man, accompanied by the illusion of falling white feathers.

"Urgh…" groaned the man, and Vincent placed the empty bottle back in his pack. "What…happened?"

"You fell asleep on guard duty," said Vincent in a soft, deadly voice. "Is the penalty for that is still death?"

The man swallowed, hard. "I'm not sure that I fell asleep, sir."

"Oh?" Vincent hauled the man to his feet roughly. "Then what happened?"

"I'm not sure, sir," said the man. His hand went to his neck. "I remember talking to Nik over there – " and he gestured to the man still sleeping on the other side. "And then I felt something hit my neck – and I guess I must have passed out." Vincent pried away the hand and took a look himself – there was about a quarter of a centimetre of dried blood. Eyes narrowing, and his anger no longer directed at the sentries, he glanced around the area, and almost immediately spotted a silvery glint against the dull grey of the concrete.

"A sedation dart," he said aloud, carefully picking the small metal thing up with his claw. "You were drugged."

The man paled, but all Vincent did was retrieve another Phoenix Down from his pack and place it beside the other man.

"Revive your friend." And with that, he brushed past both men. The door opened as he swiped his own access card (issued by Reeve after the last Deepground strike), and he swept into the building. He didn't bother with the people in the lobby, heading instead straight for the elevator and selecting the medical levels.

As it travelled downward, he pulled out his PHS and dialled Reeve's number.

"Who is this?" asked the W.R.O.'s commissioner sleepily, as the doors opened.

"It's me, Reeve."

"Vincent?" Reeve sounded much more alert. "Where are you?"

"Your medical levels. Where are you keeping Nero?"

"Right at the end. Vincent, what are you doing?"

For a long moment, Vincent did not reply, covering the distance of the corridor as fast as he could without jostling his phone. He pushed open the last door – and what he saw there confirmed his worst suspicions. He took in the unconscious guards, the insensate doctor, and the empty bed in a moment, and made a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a growl.

"For the moment? Nothing. Your prisoner has escaped."

* * *

Reeve wrung his hands. "I don't see how this could have happened!" he said for what must have been the fifth or sixth time. Still half-asleep, Yuffie wasn't keeping count beyond knowing that the phrase was really starting to annoy her.

"Well, it did," said Shelke, her voice at its most blank. She was staring at a wall, her mouth compressed into a tight line. "And now we will all pay the price."

"You're a fool, Reeve," growled Vincent. "Why didn't you just kill him?"

Reeve looked down. "I realize that I made a mistake," he said.

"A mistake that could potentially cost thousands of people their lives," Vincent interrupted coldly.

"Most decisions that I make have that risk!" said Reeve, angrily. "And it's not like you _told_ me about him. All the information I had on the Tsviets was either allusions from Scarlet's files or else hearsay from traumatized soldiers!" Vincent looked away. Shelke continued to stare at the wall. "I'm not like you," said Reeve more quietly. "I can't put a gun to the head of a helpless man – no matter _how _guilty – and blow his brains out."

There was a brief silence. "You have a good heart, Reeve Tuesti," said Shelke softly. "And we shouldn't blame you for it. But we wish that you had told us."

"At this point, I wish I told you, too," said the W.R.O.'s commissioner. "But we can't change what's happened, can we?"

"It would be no use trying to track them," mused Vincent. "They'll be long gone by now."

"They would have come with transport, in which case they will have returned to their base of operations by now." That was Shelke, still staring at the wall.

"Midgar," contributed Yuffie. Vincent and Shelke looked over at the ninja. "They've got one of our surveillance teams."

"Deepground does not take captives," said Shelke. "They will be dead by now."

Yuffie looked at the ex-Tsviet, a challenge in her eyes. "Then why didn't they just kill everyone when they went to get Freak-face?"

"Because sedating someone attracts far less attention," retorted Shelke coldly. "And this is a mission that would have required speed. Their numbers have been greatly reduced – they could not risk a force large enough to take this building."

"Especially not when there was a chance that Nero could be killed in cross-fire or even executed." Vincent leant against the desk.

There was another silence.

"So what are we going to do?" asked Yuffie finally.

Vincent shrugged. Reeve looked away. Shelke went back to staring at the wall, but she clasped her hands thoughtfully.

"With the death of Weiss," she said. "Nero is by default Deepground's leader. But for now, he is sedated, and injured. With the rest of the Tsviets gone, no officer has the authority make any kind of executive decision while Nero recovers."

"How much time does that give us?" asked Vincent.

"A few days. Perhaps a week." Shelke took a deep breath and looked the ex-Turk squarely in the eye for the first time since he had walked in. "Vincent Valentine... I believe there is something that you need to see."

* * *

The steady sound of helicopter blades whirring around and around was the first thing that Nero heard as he awoke. The second thing he was aware of was that his head hurt – though he couldn't quite remember why. It was important, though.

For several minutes he tried, unsuccessfully, to remember, but the memory kept slipping away before he could get a proper grip on it.

Eventually he discarded that train of thought. When the sedatives wore off, no doubt he would remember. If he had been less drugged, he would have been surprised that he was able to think about the fact that he was sedated and not be angry at all. As it was, he was too drugged to even feel surprised.

That thought kept him occupied for another few minutes.

He felt them come in to land, which was also when he became aware of the presence of the two soldiers, mainly because one of them picked him up carefully and carried him off the helicopter. Every step his carrier took sent a fresh stab of pain through his back, both because of the deep wounds and the unnatural position they were bending him into.

It had been more than three years since Nero had been capable of curving his back like an ordinary human being.

He barely noticed when they moved into familiar, muted lighting, but he did notice when a familiar voice began speaking.

"You're going to hurt him further if you carry him like that," said a measured female voice that he had thought he would never hear again. "Leave him with me."

"Yes, ma'am!" barked both soldiers.

"Dismissed," said the voice. Nero felt himself being carefully lowered to the ground.

"I see that the W.R.O. was stringent in administering sedatives," said the woman's voice thoughtfully. "Still, you should be at least aware by now, Nero." A hand slipped under his chin, tilting his head up to look into a single grey eye. "Do you recognize me?"

For a moment, he struggled to make his voice work – the frustration seemed to burn off a little of the drug's haze. Finally, he managed a raspy whisper: "Argent…"

* * *

"I refuse to believe this."

Shelke, noting the use of a 'will not' verb rather than a 'cannot' verb, glanced over her shoulder at Vincent's drawn, tight-lipped face and decided not to press the issue. After all, she hadn't expected him to take the revelation well.

"How is this even possible?" That was Reeve. Shelke wasn't sure how he had managed to manoeuvre himself so that he was in on this discussion, which was saying a lot.

"How is _what_ even possible?" And of course, if Reeve hung around, Yuffie was going to, as well. She sounded rather cross – due to Shelke, Vincent and Reeve all being crowded around the same console, she hadn't been able to see the screen. The ninja was currently dancing from side to side around them in a semi-circle, trying to get a look at the computer.

Vincent voiced an inarticulate growl and swept out of the room, nearly knocking Yuffie down in the process.

Yuffie looked after the gunslinger, bewildered. "What was that about?"

"This," said Reeve, indicating the screen. "According to this file, Nero the Sable is Vincent's _son._"

* * *

**Notes:** …You know, I don't think I have anything to say.

Special thanks to **robertmarilyn**, **Sweetsong22**, **KenYasha** and **Malselene** for reviewing.

ReadingChick


	7. Chapter 7

_Started: April 18th 2008_

_Finished: April 27th 2008_

* * *

**Chapter Seven**

The silence lasted for fifteen seconds.

"_What!?_"

Rather than repeat himself, Reeve moved aside so that Yuffie could get a proper look at the computer screen. The ninja pressed her face close to the glowing panel, glaring at it as though she expected the words to rearrange themselves in front of her. Shelke winced slightly as Yuffie's hand clenched itself tightly around her shoulder. After several long minutes, Yuffie pulled back.

"I don't believe it," she said flatly. "There is _no way…_"

"The right to confirm or deny this belongs to Vincent Valentine," said Shelke. "Not to you, Yuffie Kisaragi."

"Yeah, well, what'd Vinnie say? _I refuse to believe this._"

"Which implies, unfortunately, that he does believe it is possible and won't admit it to himself," Reeve said gently.

Yuffie chewed on her bottom lip, arms tightly folded. "How old is Nero?" she finally asked.

"Twenty-three," replied Shelke, already wondering how she could phrase the information that would defeat Yuffie's next argument without offending anyone.

"Ha!" Yuffie looked triumphant. "Vincent was in the coffin then! So, that proves –"

"According to this, the Researchers used genetic samples taken by one Professor Hojo during his period of experimentation on Vincent Valentine," observed Shelke.

"You mean Hojo took – _Ewwww!_ Shelke, that's _disgusting!_" yelped Yuffie.

Reeve had covered his face with one hand. From Shelke's vantage point, it was impossible to tell whether this was to hide laughter or to groan.

_I can't argue with that._ "Nevertheless." She waited for Yuffie to say something, but the ninja remained uncharacteristically silent. "It does explain much," she said softly. "There were several hundred subjects for the experiment that resulted in Nero's creation – none of the other children were carried to full term, let alone survived birth."

"What does this have to do with Vincent?" asked Yuffie sulkily.

"The resilience leant to Vincent Valentine's body by Professor Hojo's experiments was apparently passed on – to a certain degree – to Nero. This allowed – allows," she corrected herself. "His body to stand being a vessel for the darkness, as it allowed Vincent Valentine to be the vessel for Chaos."

There was an awkward silence as everyone digested this information. "I still don't believe it," said Yuffie after a while.

Neither Reeve nor Shelke bothered to respond to that. "I'm going to go check on Vincent," said Reeve. As Shelke turned her head and opened her mouth, he added quickly, "I won't push him."

Shelke let a faint smile curve the ends of her lips. "You will know, better than either of us, how to calm him, Reeve Tuesti."

Reeve inclined his head in acknowledgement of her endorsement, smiled sheepishly, and hurried out of the room.

* * *

Vincent stood at the top of W.R.O. headquarters, staring out at the horizon and trying to think about nothing – especially not Nero. Given that nearly all the events that Vincent had been involved in during the past month had involved the man, or could at least be linked to him, this was a lot harder than it might seem.

As his thoughts circled back to the Tsviet for the seventh time, he heard the door open behind him. "Vincent?" The gunslinger looked over his shoulder. Reeve was standing in the doorway, one hand on the doorknob. He looked uncertain. "Will you be alright?"

Vincent went back to staring at the horizon, a little irritated by the implication that he wasn't alright at that moment.

No matter how accurate such an implication was.

"Reeve, you don't seriously believe that file, do you?" Vincent winced, disgusted by the note of desperation in his voice, but did not retract the question.

He heard the W.R.O.'s commissioner come up beside him. "Based on what I've heard..." Reeve said slowly. "From what Shelke has told us about Nero, and what I know about Deepground and Hojo –" Vincent twitched. " – It does seem likely."

The ex-Turk said nothing, but there was a metallic, blood-curdling screech as his fists clenched and the parts of the claw slid roughly over each other. Reeve winced.

"What does this have to do with Hojo?" asked Vincent in a voice that was too soft.

"Apparently he gave the Deepground scientists samples of your genetic material," said Reeve carefully. He did not want to be on the receiving end of Vincent's cold temper.

"Hmph."

"It must have seemed like ongoing act of revenge," continued Reeve, even more carefully. "To use your genetic material in an experiment that used his wife's research in a sufficiently…twisted…way."

"It was my father's research," said Vincent bitterly.

Reeve blinked and looked over at the gunslinger, but decided not to ask. That information had probably come from Shelke, so there was no reason to ask Vincent and risk riling him up even further.

"I'll leave you alone," he murmured, stepping away.

"Reeve," said Vincent as the W.R.O.'s commissioner reached the doorway. "I don't believe it."

"I'll pass that on," replied his friend, closing the door behind him.

* * *

"Who gave you this?" asked Argent, tapping the bruised lump on Nero's temple. The younger man jerked away from her touch, almost falling sideways in the process. "Still averse to being touched, mm?"

Nero, still waiting for the drug to dissipate enough to carry on a normal conversation, could only glare. Argent's lips twitched upwards in a smile.

"I see that your control has improved," she said. Nero cocked his head. "Your darkness," clarified the woman, indicating the absence of the wisps and swirls of Oblivion that usually accompanied him. Nero, lacking the fine motor control that would allow him to look down, let his head loll. Sure enough, the darkness was completely absent, and his brown furrowed in confusion. "Not your doing?" asked Argent. Nero shook his head slightly. "Something in the sedatives?"

With an effort, Nero lifted his head and gave her a Look.

"I suppose not," mused Argent. "If the Researchers couldn't come up with something that could suppress your darkness, I suppose it would be impossible for the W.R.O. to create it." For several moments, there was silence. Nero attempted to figure out whether Argent was being sarcastic or not. It was normally difficult, but under the influence of sedatives it was impossible. Or so he concluded, anyway.

"You never answered my question," she said eventually, fixing him with that even, grey stare. "But I suppose I should save the questions until you can answer sensibly." She carefully slung one of his arms around her shoulder and wrapped one of her own around his waist. Then, careful not to hurt him further, she pulled him upright. For a moment, he leaned heavily against her, before pride or frustration gave him the strength to get his feet under him. "Don't strain yourself," said Argent warningly as she half-led, half-dragged him down the corridor.

"Would I…do that?" Nero managed, feeling the drugged haze burn off a little more.

Argent snorted. "Since you're feeling talkative now, who gave you that bruise?"

"Shelke," muttered Nero, feeling grudging respect war with anger over the whole affair.

"_Shelke?_" Argent's amazement was easily heard. It was several shuffling strides before she spoke again. "I didn't know she could hit that hard."

"Neither…did I." Even though his voice was slurred, the sardonic tone was clearly audible.

Argent's lips twitched. "Caught you by surprise, did she?"

Nero found that turning his head was quite impossible while he was still trying to remain relatively upright, so he settled for glaring at the floor.

"You always had a tendency to believe that what you saw was all there was," said Argent softly.

Nero felt an involuntary shudder run through him, another memory slipping through his impeded consciousness without comprehension.

"Nero?"

Where was Weiss?

"Weiss?" he asked, the urgency in his tone counterbalancing the drugged slur.

Argent halted and Nero staggered, his momentum carrying him forward to trip over his own feet. For several long moments, as Nero struggled to regain his footing, there was complete silence.

"You need to rest," said the silver Tsviet finally. "After you have recovered a little, then we can brief you on our situation."

Nero did not like the sound of that. At all. "Argent…"

"You're no use while you're still drugged," said the woman firmly, using what Nero had mentally dubbed her 'Instructor' tone. "Your questions will still be there when you awaken."

"I…outrank you," Nero pointed out with an effort.

"And you are considered mentally impeded while the drugs are still in your system, which means that I have the right to take command until such time as you are deemed fit to give orders again," said Argent calmly.

Nero tried to find a way around this declaration, and failed. He also realized – far too late – that Argent had used that time to steer him into a room and onto a bed.

"Rest," she commanded.

He glared at her until she left, just to assert that he didn't take orders from her. But when he heard the door close, he allowed himself to lie down. Carefully turning his head so that he wouldn't suffocate himself by sleeping with his face buried in the pillow, Nero closed his eyes.

* * *

Yuffie Kisaragi was, officially, pissed off.

"How can you be so calm about this!" she all-but-screeched, not even wincing as the strident echoes doubled the volume. "How can you even consider the _possibility _–"

"All the evidence points that way," interrupted Shelke, her voice cold.

Yuffie took the opportunity to tell Shelke, in pithy phrases she had learned from Cid, what she could do with the evidence.

"No amount of yelling and screaming will change a fact, Yuffie Kisaragi," said the ex-Tsviet, her voice growing even colder.

"You don't _know_ it's a fact!"

"Until I see evidence to the contrary, I will trust the information provided here." Shelke turned in her chair so that she could fix Yuffie with that blank blue gaze. "Do you suppose that I like this situation any more than you?"

"Well, you seem to be going _out of your way_ to defend it!" snarled the ninja.

"I said that the evidence pointed that way," said Shelke. "I did not defend it."

"All you've done since you told us –"

"I showed Vincent Valentine what I had discovered. I did not plan for you or Reeve Tuesti to find out so soon –"

"Oh, so you would have kept us in the dark!"

"This was a sensitive piece of information that I did not think that you would react well to – and I seem to have been proven correct." The ex-Tsviet pointedly turned back to the computer and began typing something.

Yuffie's fist slammed down so hard on the desk that the whole room seemed to shake. "Don't you care about _anything?_" she shouted.

Shelke's hands stilled. "Of course I do."

"Yeah, right. At least _Nero_ cared about his brother. When Shalua -"

"If you have something to say about me, then say it." Shelke's voice was completely flat. "But do not drag my sister into this."

"You've got no right to say _anything_ about Shalua!" said Yuffie savagely. "I was her _friend_ – and the only thing you ever did was cause her pain! Because of _you_, she couldn't make her own life – it was always _my sister_ this and _my sister_ that! It's _your_ fault she died, and you don't even _care!_"

"You are wrong." The small voice barely seemed to belong to the ex-Tsviet. "You are...wrong. I do care."

"You don't."

"I do."

"Then why don't you show it like a _normal_ person!"

"_STOP THIS RIGHT NOW_." Yuffie swivelled. Reeve was standing in the doorway, looking as angry as she had ever seen him.

"Please stay out of this, Reeve Tuesti," said Shelke, voice still flat.

"No, I most certainly will _not_ stay out of this," seethed the W.R.O.'s commissioner.

"This disagreement is between Yuffie Kisaragi and myself."

"And she has no right at all to question your motives."

"My motives?" Shelke's head lifted. "Is that how you think of caring? As a motive?" She looked over her shoulder. "Or do you also believe that I don't care?"

"What does that matter?" asked Reeve, confused. "You help us. That's all we need to know."

"But if I didn't care, I wouldn't help." That comment was so quiet, Shelke might have been talking to herself. "I see." Her voice regained its normal volume. "Well, if that is how things stand." She stood. "Please excuse me, Reeve Tuesti." She walked out of the room, leaving Reeve and Yuffie to stare after her.

* * *

_At least Nero cared about his brother._

_Don't you care about _anything?

_It's_ your_ fault she died, and you don't even _care!

Shelke swallowed hard and increased her pace, trying to shut Yuffie's words out of her mind.

_At least Nero cared about his brother._

That hadn't been a fair thing to say. Nero had held onto Weiss to keep himself sane, even if it was debatable how well he had succeeded. Shelke hadn't had anyone - she'd had to shut down her emotions to keep herself from breaking. But, she reflected bitterly, how could someone like Yuffie Kisaragi understand that? How could any of them understand what it had meant to survive in Deepground?

Shelke bit her lip as she reached the elevator_. _

_Don't you care about _anything?

How could she even ask that? Of course she cared. If she hadn't cared, then Weiss would have succeeded. She could have just let Omega rise. But she hadn't. She had performed the SND, given Vincent Valentine back the Protomateria. But... how much of that was her own decision, and how much Lucrecia's influence?

How much of _any _of her actions after Deepground had cast her out had been her own decisions?

_By monitoring your movements, Dr. Crescent's data fragments are restored within me. I'm simply providing this service for my own benefit._

Her own words. Lies? Probably. Dr. Crescent's neurodata had been…insistent. More than once, Shelke had found herself speaking words not her own, reacting on knowledge that didn't belong to her, and of course recalling the unfamiliar memories. By the end…she would have done almost anything to have her own mind back.

Lucrecia's neurodata should have defragmented by now. But what if it still remained as an influence? She considered Vincent Valentine a friend, but what if that was simple an ongoing effect of Dr. Crescent's feelings? Did she help the W.R.O. because she really did care about the outcome, or because of a lingering effect of a dead woman's wishes?

The lift dinged as it reached its destination.

_It's _your _fault she died, and you don't even _care!

"You're wrong," whispered Shelke helplessly as she stumbled down the corridor to her room. "You're wrong…" Her eyes burned furiously as she fumbled for the door handle and collapsed onto the bed.

_I'm sorry..._

Burying her face in her hands, Shelke wept.

* * *

Nero had not meant to fall asleep, but he had to admit that he felt better for the rest. And he was definitely much more in control of his own body, which was definitely a plus. He was not completely free of the drug yet – leading him to estimate that his nap had taken approximately an hour – but the slight fuzziness to his thoughts would fade soon.

Gingerly, he levered himself off the bed and nearly fell over as he tested his footing. With a frown and a careful twist of his head, he noted the absence of the wings.

_Blood. Pain._

_Have to get free. Have to...find Weiss._

"Ah," he murmured. The W.R.O. must have cut them off when they captured him. Though – he gently tested the theory and was rewarded by resistance and pain – they had not managed to cut them out entirely.

A pity. If they had done that, they would have actually done something useful for him. However, that couldn't be helped.

Glancing around, he noted that someone had entered the room while he had slept, leaving behind a fresh uniform, and angrily crushed the stab of panic that momentarily constricted his chest. The last time that someone had entered a room while he was sleeping, he had come away from the experience with those thrice-damned wings. Just remembering...

"Stop that," he muttered to himself. That was past now, three years past, and his lips curled in a grim smile as he reminded himself of how the Researchers had paid for it. There hadn't been nearly enough pain to even it out, of course, but it had certainly gone a long way towards it.

Dressed in the new uniform, he opened the door. The soldier standing outside it snapped to attention.

"Sir!" she barked.

"At ease," said Nero automatically. The soldier relaxed – but only slightly.

"Argent the Silver sent me to guide you, sir," she said, holding her head straight.

"I see," said the Tsviet softly. "Then lead the way."

The soldier remained silent as she led him through the halls, and Nero did not seek to question her. There was a kind of comfort in the familiarity of the lay-out, the muted lighting, the intense cold that came of building a structure almost entirely out of metal, the carrying echoes of footsteps within the labyrinth of corridors. It was everything that he was used to.

"Sir, permission to speak?" said the soldier hesitantly.

"Granted," said Nero, shaking off his thoughts.

"Did you need to visit the medical wing before you speak to Argent?" He examined the set of her shoulders. She was prepared to accept the consequences for such a forward question, but there was nothing to suggest she would retract the enquiry. Curious. Most soldiers wouldn't have been so bold as to ask their superiors a question that might be taken to imply weakness.

"I thank you for your concern," he said, refusing to let a sardonic tone colour his voice. "But no. I shall speak to her first."

"Sir." They halted in front of a non-descript door. "This is where Argent the Silver resides."

"I see," said Nero. "My thanks, soldier. You are dismissed."

With a final salute, she left, and Nero entered the room.

"Ah, Nero," said Argent, looking up from her computer. "I see that you have recovered."

"Much of the drug has been burned off," he acknowledged.

"Then I suppose that I cannot withhold information from you," she said. Her cool tone had a vague undercurrent of anxiety.

"No," he said, letting his tone cool a little. "You can't."

"Our forces have been decimated," said Argent without further preamble. "Less than a tenth remain after the damage done to Midgar following the descent of Omega and the destruction of the mako reactors." Nero's expression did not change, though inwardly he winced. "In addition..." She swallowed. "We are the only two remaining Tsviets."

Nero's mind blanked. "Weiss?" The question was out before he could stop himself.

Argent shook her head, eyes downcast. "We have spent the last week scouring Midgar. We found the crater where Omega hit – the rest of the cavern came down on top of it. There was no way that anyone – even Weiss – could have survived." A pause. "I'm sorry, Nero."

For several long moments, there was complete silence. Then Nero threw his head back and screamed in anguish, the sound echoing down the metal corridors and bringing cold sweat to the faces of every soldier who heard it.

* * *

**Notes**: ...I can explain. Really. You see, my school holds a 'Cultural Festival' every year – it's like a sports day, but it lumps together all the other extra-curricular activities you can do, like chess, music, public speaking, etc. and has each house compete. Everyone is required to participate in something, so I had to sign up for the vocal group, which has been convening at lunchtimes. I write during lunchtimes. Consequently, the chapter was delayed due to me losing valuable writing time. I'm not happy about it, but there's not a damn thing I can do. So, until this Wednesday is passed and the Cultural Festival is over, updates might be more sporadic.

Anyway, the chapter itself... The Tsviets are really having a time of it, aren't they? Shelke's going through an identity crisis (bad Yuffie! Bad!) and Nero has just flown off the handle. I doubt we'll be getting much sense out of him for a while.

To **little dog**, **Sweetsong22**, **Kiki-sama**, **KenYasha, NRGburst** and **robertmarilyn**: thank you so much for your support! You guys rock hard-core.

See you all next chapter!


	8. Chapter 8

_

* * *

_

Started: 28th April 2008

_Finished: 8th May 2008_

* * *

**Chapter Eight**

Argent shut the door behind her, expression grim, and faced the small crowd of soldiers that had gathered upon hearing Nero's agonized scream. According to her orders, they were all dressed in full uniform. Now she wished that she hadn't issued that particular instruction – it would have been useful to read the emotion on their faces.

True, she hadn't expected Nero to react _well_ to the news of his brother's demise, but neither had she expected for him to fall apart so completely. Had she overestimated his emotional strength? Did it even matter? He would have found out anyway, and when he did… Well, she couldn't fret about it now. What was done was done, and now they all had to pay the price for their leader's fragility.

"Is there a reason for your gathering, soldiers?" she asked, addressing them.

"We heard a scream, ma'am," said one of them, rigidly at attention.

She almost said it wasn't their concern. It would have been so easy to say it wasn't their concern. But…it was. "Nero the Sable was just informed of his brother's death," she said. "He did not take it well." She flicked her gaze across the masked faces of the gathering. "Please return to your tasks."

There was a subtle shift in the crowd as they dispersed, but it was difficult to tell what they were thinking. All she could do was pray that this would not destroy their faith in Nero…or in her.

* * *

Yuffie sat on the desk, head bent and cheeks flushed as she tried not to meet Reeve's angry eyes. His scolding had been a lengthy one, filled with the kind of language that she didn't always understand, but expressed his displeasure with her loud and clear. She resented the whole situation – why did everyone side with Shelke? – but she still squirmed under her boss's scrutiny.

And then, to make things about a hundred times worse, Vincent walked in.

"Where's Shelke?" he asked, glancing at the empty computer chair where he had last seen her.

"We don't know," said Reeve, voice taut with anger. Vincent raised an eyebrow. Reeve glared at Yuffie. She could feel his eyes burning holes in her skull. It was a wonder she couldn't smell singed hair.

"Yuffie, you didn't fight with Shelke, did you?" Leviathan, she hated that mixture of resignation, disbelief and disappointment – and she hated that she had nothing to say about it. All she could do was hunch her shoulders and not meet his eyes. "What did you say?"

Yuffie didn't answer.

"She implied that Shelke didn't care about anything and that it was her fault – " Reeve paused momentarily and took a deep breath. "That it was her fault that Shalua died."

Yuffie could quite willingly have sunk into the floor as Vincent turned that blood-red glare on her.

"That was uncalled for, Yuffie," he said too softly. The ninja mumbled something inaudible as Vincent turned back to Reeve. "Did you give her a room?"

"Yes – first living level, second corridor, third door on the right."

Vincent nodded slowly, committing the location to memory. "Yuffie, come with me." He left the room in a swirl of anger and red cloak. It was almost poetic, except for the sullen ninja who hopped off the desk and followed him, furtively glancing at her companion before letting her gaze rest at her feet again.

"Why did you feel the need to antagonize Shelke?" asked Vincent coldly as the reached the elevator.

"You'll just get mad at me," muttered Yuffie. "More mad, I mean."

"If this is something to do with Nero – "

"She kept saying that 'all the evidence pointed that way'," said Yuffie, forgetting her agitation and (badly) imitating Shelke's monotone.

"Which is true."

"Those files could have been altered or planted – "

"By who and for what purpose?"

"Don't you start!" snapped Yuffie. "Do you _want_ Freak-face as your son?"

An awkward silence followed. "No," said Vincent. "No, I don't."

"I thought not." They stepped into the elevator. "Look, Vince – "

"Vincent," he corrected automatically.

"_Vince,_" she insisted. "You've gotta tell her that you don't believe that Freak-face is related to you. It's the only way she'll accept it."

"Hmph."

"I'm going to take that as a 'yes'."

Vincent's sigh was lost in the cheerful ding of the elevator announcing it had reached the right level. Several W.R.O. personnel backed up slightly to make room for the gunslinger and the ninja to walk past them before surging forward into the lift.

"So you think she's in her room?" asked Yuffie as they turned into the second corridor. "I would have thought she'd be more the type to go look for comfort in another computer or something."

"Do not imply that Shelke is a computer, Yuffie," growled Vincent. "You already have to apologize for what you said. Don't add more insults."

"_Apologize?_" yelped Yuffie. "I – "

Vincent cut her off with a Look. "Why did you think I asked you to accompany me?"

They halted in front of the Shelke's door.

"Um…pleasure of my company?" tried the ninja with a big smile.

"Your company isn't _that _pleasing when you have just insulted one of my friends," said Vincent firmly. "You are going to apologize." Before Yuffie had the chance to think of a come-back or a plausible reason that she shouldn't, Vincent had raised his non-clawed hand and knocked on the door.

Silence.

"Shelke?" called Vincent softly, turning the doorknob.

"Did you want something, Vincent Valentine?"

Yuffie barely recognized the girl who stood at the doorway. Shelke's voice trembled as she scrubbed at her face with the heel of her hand, trying to hide the traces of tears.

_I made her cry._ Yuffie wasn't sure whether she was pleased or horrified.

"Do you want us to come back later?" asked Vincent. He reached for her awkwardly, as though to clasp her shoulder or maybe give her a hug, but then thought better of the movement and let his hand drop back to his side.

"No. I – I'm fine." Shelke swallowed. Taking a deep breath, she repeated, "Did you want something?"

Vincent regained his mental footing after a moment's thought. "I don't, but I believe Yuffie had something to say to you."

Shelke's eyes hardened. "I don't want a forced apology," she said, her voice temperature quickly dropping to well below zero.

"Who said it was forced?" asked Vincent.

_You need a lot more practice, Vinnie,_ thought Yuffie. _Your innocent act totally _sucks.

"You need to keep your voices down," said Shelke coldly. "Now, please excuse me." She closed the door with a sharp _snick_.

"Well," said Yuffie, staring at the blank wood. "_That_ was a total waste of time."

Vincent glared at her.

* * *

The ninja's words produced a stab of pain in Shelke's chest, but she decided against going back out there. She had chosen her position on the matter, and now she had to stay with it.

_What is wrong with me?_ she wondered. _I never used to care about what people thought._ _Am I changing so quickly, or is this just another effect of Lucrecia's data?_ Her throat closed as she considered that possibility.

She riffled through the recent memories, replaying the moment that she had heard Vincent Valentine's voice calling her name. She considered the feeling of warmth that had jolted her out of her tears – and the sinking of her heart when she had heard Yuffie Kisaragi's voice accompanying him. Jealousy?

She slammed the door on that thought. No. _No. _She was _not_ in love with Vincent Valentine. Her feelings for him were the residual effect of a dead woman's memories. Nothing more.

Right?

How was she supposed to tell? It had been a long time…a _very_ long time… since she had been capable of normal emotional displays. Was the warmth she felt when she spent time with Vincent Valentine, who had been the first person to truly befriend her following her defection simply a result of him being just that – her first friend? Was this a normal emotional response? A normal emotional attachment? She didn't know.

Too many questions, and no answers to balance them.

"What am I going to do?" she asked the empty room.

* * *

Nero was crying when Argent went back into the room.

As soon as she heard the harsh, choking sobs and saw the man who was _technically_ her commanding officer curled up in as much of a ball as his body would allow him, she shut the door as quickly as she was able. His screams had already shaken their faith – the soldiers didn't need to see something that was all but a confirmation that he wasn't fit to lead them.

"Nero?" The calling of his name produced no response, and Argent sighed, walking over to sit on the desk chair. She couldn't offer any comfort to the distraught man, so all she could do was wait for the emotional storm to blow over. She had set most of the soldiers to training, so they shouldn't be disturbed any time soon.

_I never would have informed him if I had known it would produce such a volatile response_, she thought defiantly. But she knew that that wasn't true. Nero _had_ to know this, had to understand that Deepground's fate now rested in his hands. Perhaps he wouldn't care. Nero had never shown an interest in being a leader, but it was easy enough to read between the lines of the reports made by the main Deepground forces during the lead-up to the Omega incident – Nero had been the one issuing the orders. She had examined the strategies he had employed – they were sound, if a little reckless. A little too much disregard for the lives of the forces after this 'Vincent Valentine' had entered the scene, but given what they were trying to do, it made no difference to the overall plan.

The only thing that she objected to was the order to terminate Shelke. She might have been mako-dependent, but she could hold her own in brief fights, and her skills were certainly invaluable to co-ordinating troops and obtaining information about enemy situations. But that order had come directly from Weiss, and Nero would never question an order from his brother.

Why had Weiss wanted Shelke killed?

She had intended to ask Nero when she had finished filling him in, but it now looked like she would have to wait a long time to get the answers she sought. In the main scheme of things, it was rather irrelevant, considering that Shelke had survived the attempt on her life and was now allied with the W.R.O., but…

Say that she was imagining over-familiarity with her leader, but she had been so sure that Weiss valued Shelke's abilities, as narrow as they were…

She was suddenly aware that the sobs had stopped, and brought herself out of her reverie to examine the man at her feet. Nero had uncurled from his ball, but the blank look in his eyes sent a chill down Argent's spine.

"Nero." There was no response, not even a flicker of the eyelids. "Nero?" She snapped her fingers in front of his face. Still no movement. For a long moment, Argent did nothing. Then she drew back her hand and slapped him hard across the face. Nero's head snapped to the side, and a red mark in the shape of her hand bloomed on his too-pale cheek, but he made no other movement.

"Damn you," muttered Argent with frustrated anger. "Of all times, Nero, why _now?_"During the times when Nero had been fully restrained by the Restrictors, he had often retreated inside himself, where the pain and humiliation of the imprisonment (as well as the agony of being separated from Weiss) could not reach him. He had been known to remain in this trance-like state for days on end, and Argent was privately of the belief it was the only reason he had survived a three year separation from his beloved brother with his mind relatively intact.

They could not afford for Nero to be unresponsive at a time like this. Deepground collectively had revealed themselves by retrieving him from W.R.O. headquarters, and as soon as the W.R.O. became aware that they had survived...

Argent sat back down in the chair, rested her face in one hand and sighed. What was she going to do?

* * *

There was an ominous silence at the other end of the phone line. Tell Tifa that part of Deepground's forces had survived and she had been dismayed at best. But tell her that Yuffie had accused Shelke of not caring about anything... If he wasn't so annoyed with the ninja himself, Reeve might have felt bad about throwing his head of Intel Gathering into the verbal pit. No doubt the martial artist would have a few choice things to say to the 'White Rose of Wutai' when they next met.

But he _was_ annoyed, so the vague sense of unease was balanced out by the sense of satisfaction that Yuffie would receive the scolding that she deserved.

"Is Shelke around?" asked Tifa finally, voice grim.

"Not at this moment, no."

"Well, when you see her next, tell her to give me a call, won't you?"

"I'll be sure to pass that on," the man assured her.

"Thanks, Reeve." Tifa's tone settled, moving back towards her a more normal cadence. "When do you want us to come out to deal with Deepground?"

"I'll let you know when you're needed. We're going to watch Midgar from a safe distance and see what they do."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"Not really," said Reeve frankly. "But the whole city is a deathtrap at the moment – and the complex itself even more so, I don't doubt."

"Mmm. Well, give us that call."

"I will."

Making her goodbyes, Tifa hung up, and Reeve put the phone back in his pocket just as the door whooshed back open. Vincent walked in, his anger preceding him, and Yuffie trailing behind like a scolded puppy. Reeve mentally revised his story – maybe Yuffie wouldn't need that scolding from Tifa after all.

"Was she there?" he asked hesitantly as Vincent made himself comfortable against a wall and Yuffie hopped back up onto her customary desk.

"She was there," growled the gunslinger.

"She didn't want me to say sorry," added Yuffie quietly.

"She didn't want a _forced_ apology," stressed Vincent. "And since Yuffie has no regrets for what she said…" He trailed off, and Reeve changed his story back. Yuffie _definitely _needed that scolding.

"I don't see why you're all siding with her," grumbled the ninja.

"You wouldn't have even thought about questioning anyone else's motives like that," said Vincent grimly.

Yuffie decided her shoes were interesting. "Yeah, but…"

"But _nothing_," jumped in Reeve. "You keep treating her like an enemy for no reason at all."

"But – " Both men glared at her. Anger flaring, Yuffie slammed a hand against the desk. Reeve winced slightly in sympathy for her abused hand. "She doesn't care!"

"You mean she doesn't show that care the way that you do," retorted Vincent. "That doesn't mean that she doesn't care. If she didn't, we'd all be dead now."

"Go to hell, Vincent!" snapped Yuffie. "You're just all over her because she's got your precious Lucrecia's memories in her mind!"

Wrong thing to say. Vincent's eyes hardened to something approaching diamond density, and the temperature in the room dropped to arctic levels.

"Is that what this is about?" he asked too softly. "Your petty jealousy?"

If Yuffie was afraid, she gave no outward sign of it. "Ever since she walked onto the scene, it's always been, 'Shelke this' 'Shelke that', like she's so _perfect_. But you only think that because she's Lucrecia, and I hate to break it to you, Vinnie, but Lucrecia was _far_ from perfect – "

"I never claimed that Lucrecia was perfect – "

"Well, you sure _acted_ like it! You spent _thirty years_ in that coffin blaming yourself for a stupid choice that _she_ made, which nearly destroyed the Planet. And once you got _out_ of the coffin and we'd finished cleaning up her psycho of a son, you went back to that _stupid_ cave and moped for Leviathan only _knows_ how long. And the only reason that you're not moping in that stupid cave _now_ is because there's a living breathing version of her running around in a mako-dependant freak called Shelke!" She took a deep breath and fell silent.

For a long moment, there was total silence. Vincent had gone completely rigid. Every few seconds, he shuddered convulsively.

"Vincent?" asked Reeve hesitantly.

"Don't..." The raspy, strained voice barely seemed to belong to the gunslinger. "Don't… come closer…" His arms wrapped around himself and hands clenched tightly around his upper arms. The sharp brass claws punctured clothing and skin. Vincent's blood trickled down the sleeve of his shirt.

"Vincent!" All anger forgotten, Yuffie leaped off the desk and tried to reach him. A swiping blow knocked her to the floor. Heart in his mouth, Reeve darted forward to drag the ninja backwards and felt a stab of gratitude that the blow had been dealt with the normal hand and not the clawed gauntlet.

Vincent shuddered repeatedly, hunching over himself. For several long minutes, there was only the sound of the ex-Turk's labored breathing. Then, abruptly, Vincent fell to the floor. He rolled onto his side, gasping for air.

"Vincent?" asked Yuffie in a very small voice. The gunslinger did not reply immediately. Slowly, painfully, Vincent got onto his hands and knees, then to his feet.

"Excuse me," he said faintly, and stumbled out of the room without looking at either of them.

* * *

Nero waited.

The place that he had retreated to was cool and quiet, apart from the dreadful agony, but the price to pay was that thoughts could take a very long time to reach him.

A very, very long time.

There was an important realization coming. He could feel it creating ripples in the cool place inside his mind. He might have been impatient, except that he knew that the realization would throw him back into the real world, and he wasn't quite ready to face that again. Not yet.

* * *

**Notes:** Again, I'm sorry for the delay in this chapter. I was distracted by other creative stuff and school. EVIL SCHOOL. At least after tomorrow I won't have to worry about dance practices or anything anymore, because the Presentation Ball will be over! Updates should hopefully be more regular with that out of the way.

Remember, you're more than free to get on my case about how long the chapter is taking. I need to be prodded sometimes.

The plot thickens…further. Soon you won't be able to move for the thickness of the plot! (insert evil laughter here)

Thanks to **little dog**, **KenYasha**, and **Malselene** for reviewing!


	9. Chapter 9

_Started: 9th May 2008_

_Finished: 14th May 2008_

* * *

**Chapter Nine**

Vincent was thoroughly sick in the first bathroom he passed, and was pathetically grateful that it was deserted. Bracing his hands against the sides of the sink, he stared blankly at the haggard-looking man in the mirror and closed his eyes, still tasting vomit at the back of his throat despite rinsing his mouth out.

_That was far too close._

If he wanted to be honest, Yuffie's accusations were, if not reasonable, then at least logical. Of course, it had been difficult to think that way when he was already simmering over her treatment of Shelke. He hadn't realized – no, he hadn't _wanted_ to realize that the anger would give the monsters a foothold. As he unwillingly remembered the rage and blood lust that had burned through him, he shuddered at how close he had come to giving in and letting the monsters rip Yuffie into pieces.

They were still howling at being thwarted, hammering at the barriers he had placed around them. And it had been barely ten minutes, but he was already feeling tired. How much longer could he stand this?

_Maybe I should just go back to the coffin . They would be...safe, then._

It wouldn't work. There was no way that Yuffie, not to mention everyone else he knew, would allow him to shut himself away again. They would sit on him if necessary, he had no doubt. They had accepted the risks when they first learned of the beasts he carried within his mind, and they wouldn't abandon him now because he was having a minor control problem.

He almost laughed, because that was what they would term it. A 'minor' problem. Never mind that at any moment his defenses could fail and those around him would be at the mercy of monsters who lived for nothing but the kill.

"Vincent?" The cloaked man glanced at the slightly blurry image of Reeve in the mirror.

"Reeve," he acknowledged, not turning around.

"You can't control the monsters." A statement of fact, not a question.

"Chaos is gone." His hands tightened on the edge of the sink. "Chaos kept the other three in line. And now that it's gone..." The red eyes in the mirror looked haunted. "They're always hungry, Reeve. I don't know..." The unfinished sentence hung heavy in the air.

"That's why you wanted to talk to Shelke," mused the W.R.O.'s commissioner. "You think that there's something in the Shinra database that might help you control them."

"I thought that Hojo's records might provide clues, yes." A short pause. "I went to Nibelheim, and searched the hard records that remained there."

"Nothing?" Reeve's voice was sympathetic.

"Nothing," he agreed. A longer pause. "How is Yuffie?"

Reeve hesitated.

"I hurt her, didn't I?" said Vincent softly, gaze falling to the sink.

"It's just a bruise," said Reeve helplessly, knowing that it wouldn't lessen his friend's guilt at all. Sure enough, Vincent did not reply, choosing instead to tighten his grip on the sink. Tiny slivers of porcelain dropped to the ground as the claw scored shallow marks. "You need to get your own cuts looked at," said the younger man, slightly desperate, indicating the dried blood on Vincent's right sleeve. The gunslinger glanced disinterestedly at the ripped material.

"I'll be fine," he said. Fixed as his gaze was on his clenched hands, he didn't see the concerned angle of Reeve's eyebrows, or the way that the lips compressed into a tight, worried line.

"Let me know if there's anything we can do to help," he murmured. Vincent heard the door swing shut behind his friend as Reeve left.

* * *

Yuffie gingerly fingered the bruise on her face as Reeve came back in.

"Is he alright?" she asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

"He feels guilty," replied her employer.

Yuffie huffed in frustration. "Typical Vincent. Does he think we don't know about those stupid monsters? I was the one stupid enough to run at him when he was trying to leash them."

"He doesn't see it that way."

"Of course he doesn't. He's Vincent."

Sadly, that just about summed it up.

"So, I guess we'd better get to briefing the teams for the Midgar surveillance line," said Reeve, changing the subject.

"Mmf," muttered Yuffie, and stood with a groan. "I hate briefings."

"They're – " Reeve began, but Yuffie cut him off.

"Necessary, I know, I know. That doesn't mean I can't hate them."

Reeve made a noise of disagreement, but knew better than to try and argue the case with the ninja. It would only end with him feeling like he had run repeatedly into a reinforced steel wall.

So instead, he settled for, "Let's go," and walked purposefully out of the room.

* * *

Argent had concluded, after a few minutes examination of Nero's injuries, that the W.R.O. scientists were unimaginative hacks.

She was perched on the edge of her bed. Nero was still sitting on her floor, still blank-eyed and still as unresponsive as he had been for the last hour. He had offered no resistance to her removing his shirt, which she found worrying. Nero had never allowed anyone to touch him in this state, lashing out with the darkness whenever anyone tried. She had tried everything short of whacking him over the head with a pillow to get a response – and she had only refrained from that because no doubt the soldiers would come looking for them soon, and she hated to imagine what conclusions they would draw if they found their acting commander bashing their true commander over the head with a pillow.

Which reminded her – she still had to figure out a way to explain this to the soldiers in a way that wasn't going to remove their trust in either of them. Unfortunately, that was a lower priority compared to the fact that Nero's injuries could permanently cripple him if they healed this way, which meant that she needed to get him to the medical wing. Unfortunately, in his current state, Nero had no way of knowing what was going on, and as soon as his mind processed the fact that he was in a medical wing – well, the results would not be pretty.

And there was no way to explain that he was being tended by a fellow Tsviet rather than being violated by a Researcher. Oh joy.

Argent promised herself that as soon as Nero healed, she would bully him into sparring with her so that she could work out her frustrations. She had always found him exasperating to deal with, but this was just ridiculous.

A sharp knock on the door cut through half-formed plots of vengeance, and Argent moved automatically to answer it. Hand on the panel, she paused, and sighed.

_No help for it_. She pressed her palm to the panel, and the door slid open. The soldier standing outside snapped to attention.

"At ease," muttered Argent tiredly, breathing a sigh of relief despite seeing the soldier's eyes go to Nero, sitting on the floor and naked to the waist. This particular soldier was one of the few she trusted.

"Do you require assistance moving him to the medical wing, ma'am?" asked the soldier, which was as much tact as she was likely to get out of anyone raised in Deepground.

"That would be appreciated," she said, seeing no way around what was going to happen. She stepped aside and let the soldier walk over to Nero. "Don't try to lift him – you'll worsen the injuries," she said coolly, hiding behind her assured mask again. Crouching on one side of Nero, she motioned for the soldier to do the same, and pulled one arm over her shoulder. Copying the movement, the soldier braced for weight and stood up at the same time as Argent.

"Ma'am…"

"I don't think there's a term for what he's done," said Argent, having anticipated the question. "The best I can put it is that he has… 'gone inside' himself. He used it as a defense mechanism when the Restrictors were in power. It separates him from the real world."

Her companion remained silent after that. Argent gritted her teeth against the hidden stares of the soldiers they passed, painfully aware of how Nero must appear to them as his head lolled on her shoulder, eyes still completely blank and unaware.

As they reached the medical unit and steered Nero onto a bed, Argent's nerves went on edge even as she breathed an internal sigh of relief.

"Did you require further assistance, ma'am?" asked the soldier.

Argent nodded, moving towards a cupboard that housed healing supplies and a locked toolbox. "Have you had experience with healing materia?"

"Some, ma'am."

"Then please find something we can use. I have to make same basic repairs first."

"Permission to speak?"

"Granted." Argent unlocked the toolbox and rummaged around inside it.

"Wouldn't it be easier to remove the machinery rather than repair it?"

"If it was anyone else? Yes. Since it's Nero? No. We'll be lucky to complete the healing before he realizes where he is." Retrieving the necessary equipment, Argent walked back over and set to work, uncaring of the blood that oozed onto her gloves. To the relief of her superior, the soldier refrained from further questions and went in search of a healing materia.

"What a mess you've made of this, Nero," muttered Argent through the pliers clenched in her mouth as she reconnected some wires. She worked steadily for ten minutes, removing what was either too damaged to repair or could be removed with seriously altering the machinery. Nero twitched as she made the final reconnection and sat back and regarded her work with a critical air. "It'll do," she said aloud. It wouldn't have been nearly sufficient if she had intended to reconnect the wings, but since all she intended to do was repair enough not to cause further damage when they closed the wounds, it would be fine. The shoulders were more of a problem, but that would have to be dealt with when Nero woke up properly.

"Ma'am." Right on schedule. Pressing the metal stubs back into place, Argent gestured for the soldier to cast the spell.

She never got the chance.

With an inhuman scream that might have fear, rage, pain or some combination of the three, Nero leapt up, the temperature in the room dropping swiftly as the darkness made an appearance. Absurdly, Argent felt a surge of relief at the sight, though she grabbed the soldier's upper arm and yanked her backwards before they both fell victim to Oblivion.

"Get out," she ordered, shoving the soldier towards the door.

"But, ma'am – "

"_Go._"

The soldier knew better than to argue with that tone of voice. She left the room with all haste. Argent turned back to Nero. He had backed away, the darkness swirling thickly around him, the look in his red eyes telling her clearly that he didn't recognize her in his maddened state. Slowly, she sat down on the bed, never taking her eyes away from his. Any sudden movements – any movement at all, in fact, watching the way that Nero's eyes flickered constantly over her – could get her killed.

"Easy, Nero," she said softly. She didn't expect the words to have any effect, and rightfully so – no doubt the Researchers had attempted placating speeches too, never able to get close enough to Nero to administer an effective dose of sedatives. So she kept still, hands plainly in sight, and staying as motionless as she could.

Nero continued to back away.

"Careful," she murmured. He froze at the sound of her voice, stopping just short of smacking into the far wall. "You'll damage yourself." After a moment's thought, she added, "Damage yourself further."

Nero watched her warily, but if his body language was anything to go by, he was confused about the lack of resistance. Understandably. The Researchers were not patient people. She, on the other hand, could wait all day if necessary.

So she sat on the bed and watched him. Nero, in return, watched her, the darkness growing less every minute. He was sweating. Clearly it was an effort to maintain this level, and that worried her – Nero should have been able to keep that amount of the darkness up for hours without feeling the effects – often this amount drifted free of his control _anyway_. Why was he suddenly so much less resistant to it?

Just what had the W.R.O. done to him? She had said that it was impossible for them to produce a drug that would suppress the darkness totally, and that certainly appeared to be true, but what if they had come up with something that would only _partially_ suppress it? While a competent fighter – she had made sure of _that_ – Nero's main weapon was Oblivion. His hand-to-hand skills were severely hampered by the metal in his back and the weight of the wings (even if he had found a creative way to use them), so if disarmed and unable to use his darkness… He was vulnerable. Far too vulnerable for her liking.

The darkness faded to faint swirls and wisps, and Nero leant heavily against the wall. Getting up slowly, Argent walked over, keeping her movements smooth. Nero's head snapped up and he bared his teeth at her – a primal reaction that told her he was still not himself.

"Easy," she said gently, holding up her hands so that he could see that she was unarmed. "You know me, Nero." She glanced over his shoulder, seeing bloody smears on the walls where the wounds had come into contact with the metal. She sensed, more than saw, his eyes narrow as he tried to recognize her. Perhaps the wounds were causing the weakness? He would have lost a lot of blood over the past week, since there had been no evidence of his body beginning to heal.

She saw the flicker of recognition. She extended a hand; Nero reached for it –

The door opened.

Argent felt the cold brush of Oblivion as Nero unleashed it on the soldiers who had been foolish enough to open the door. His icy grip around her forearm was tight enough to bruise – he had yanked her back next to him. She would have been grateful that he had apparently recognized her as an ally if he wasn't also subjecting other allies to the darkness.

Now she was faced with a difficult decision – she could knock Nero out and thus destroy his trust in her; or she could let him kill the fools and thus destroy the trust of the other soldiers.

After an instant's thought, she chose the former.

_Knocked out twice in two days_, she thought as Nero slumped over, saved from further head injury by her hand fastening around his upper arm. _He is going to be very unhappy when he awakens._ Leaning him carefully against the wall, she walked over to the three soldiers struggling to breathe on the ward floor.

"You are idiots," she said succinctly. "_Never_ enter a room that Nero the Sable has unleashed the darkness in." She hauled the closest one to his feet and let him get his feet under him before moving onto the next. "You're lucky to be alive."

They didn't reply, but she didn't expect them to. Contact with Oblivion tended to leave people a little bit shaky – even when they were Deepground soldiers.

Finally, one of them managed to stutter, "W-what was that?"

"That was Oblivion," Argent said, sympathy tempering her stern tone. She remembered her own first brush with the darkness – the memory was not a pleasant one.

The soldier shuddered.

Satisfied that they had been sufficiently warned, Argent pointed to the door. "You would be wise to avoid this room for the next hour," she said, her tone making an order out of the statement. Hastily, the soldiers left.

* * *

The lift dinged happily at her as Shelke stepped back out onto the main level of the W.R.O. headquarters. She had washed her face, but knew that the traces of tears were still obvious, so she avoided the gaze of passers-by.

The corridor that led to her sister's lab was quiet, and Shelke wondered why it had become such a gathering ground. Surely there were more official rooms for briefing and such? But it was deserted now, and that was what mattered. More importantly, the apparatus for her SND was still in the corner. It had been disconnected from the computer, but it would be the work of seconds to reconnect it.

She picked up the make-shift helmet carefully and set it carefully beside the terminal, dragging the cables towards her and inserting them into the correct ports. The wires around the cranium began to glow a bright blue, signaling connection to energy.

"What are you doing?"

"Greetings, Vincent Valentine," she said in reply, sitting down at the computer and running cursory checks. Luckily, the programming that she had done two days ago was still intact. To rewrite _that_ would have taken hours. "Did you want something?"

"The knowledge of what you intend to do would be nice," he said dryly. "Didn't you say that the defenses of the Deepground system were active and that you weren't able to pass them?"

"I do not intend to make a SND into the Deepground system," she informed him primly. "I intend to make an SND into the Shinra system to retrieve Professor Hojo's records." She turned slightly, enough that she could look over her shoulder at him. "Unless you would prefer to apply your own, questionable, control methods on the monsters?"

Vincent's eyes widened, and Shelke turned back to the computer, placing the helmet over her head.

"How did you know about that?" he asked, voice grim.

"It was not difficult to guess," she replied. "And no doubt, since certain other facts have come to light, it would be best if we tried to find a method of controlling these creatures sooner rather than later. No doubt emotional turmoil would further erode the barriers that you have placed around them."

Vincent remained silent, and Shelke was grateful for that. Not because she needed to concentrate on her preparations – she could have done those in her sleep – but because, for the first time since she had met him, she had lied to Vincent Valentine.

**

* * *

**

**Notes:** It's more likely that you'll be getting an update once a week rather than once every couple of days. Exams are coming up in a few weeks, so I'll probably need to spend most of my time getting ready for those. However, I'll still set aside my break times at school for writing, and that should be sufficient.

As for the chapter itself… Shelke, what are you doing!?

Thanks to **Malselene**, **robertmarilyn**, **KenYasha**, **monitorscreen**, **TTIOT** and **Sweetsong22** for the reviews! See you all next chapter.


	10. Chapter 10

_Started: 14__th__ May 2008_

_Finished: 19__th__ May 2008_

* * *

**Chapter Ten**

_There was no pain, which was unusual when you considered the fact that there was a hand lodged in his stomach. He felt surprised, but there was only a chilling numbness, a slow shiver, where there should have been searing agony. Was he surprised because he couldn't feel any pain, or because it was Weiss, his beloved brother, who had done this to him? He couldn't tell._

"_Weiss?" The word was choked, voice reacting to pain he couldn't feel._

_Warm breath next to his ear, pale hair brushing against the exposed skin of his face. "I'm finished with you."_

_He felt everything around him shatter in the seconds of free flight as his brother threw him away. There was pain as he connected with the floor of the mako reactor, the wings breaking on contact and sending a vicious wave of electricity through his body, but he barely noticed. He was too preoccupied with the pain in his chest._

_He struggled to breathe._

_He could hear Weiss laughing. It echoed in his skull. Time had become fluid. Had he been lying there for seconds or hours, struggling to hold on long enough to understand? No way to tell._

_There was another voice overlaying his brother's – a high, whiny voice. The scientist. Hobo? No, Hojo. Yes, that was his name. The one who had helped him create the plan that would save Weiss from death. Why were they speaking in unison? Why was his brother talking about Reunions and neurodata? Why why why?_

_He heard his name, and struggled to stay conscious. Maybe, these would be the words that would help him understand what he had done that meant Weiss didn't want him…?_

"_I found a willing assistant in the lad, Nero, here, to carry out my so-called 'rebirth'. Though never did he expect I would take over his 'beloved' brother's mind!" Hojo might have laughed then, but Nero was no longer listening._

Take over his brother's mind.

_Nero's fist clenched tight, the only movement he could make as rage began to burn, searing through his veins and banishing the pain. He had no words for the enormity of the emotion, the intense need to rip the scientist apart that went far beyond anger, beyond bloodlust, beyond hate._

_Had to get to Weiss. Had to free him. Maybe…? _

_Nero surrendered himself to the darkness, letting it devour him. The only thing left was purpose._

Have to save Weiss.

* * *

A low moan cut through the silence of the ward, and Argent looked at Nero with concern. His face was tight and contorted with pain – and since she had just healed most of the damage he had done to himself, she wondered what kind of dream he was struggling through. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she got up. There was nothing that she could do for nightmares. Nero was always vulnerable to that particular threat, particularly after he had made use of Oblivion. After using the darkness, the dark Tsviet was always more fragile, his mental barriers at a low. In that state, it wouldn't take more than the wrong words at the wrong moment to cause a wound more damaging than anything that could be physically inflicted.

Nero was, all in all, lucky to have Weiss. Anyone who so much as _breathed_ a disparaging remark about Nero tended to end up on the receiving end of Weiss' formidable combat skills. Argent was privately of the belief that Weiss objected more strenuously to the restraints placed on his brother than the ones placed on himself.

Had. Had tended to. Had objected.

_Past tense._

With a deeper sigh, Argent cupped her face in one palm and looked over at the Nero. "You aren't the only one who mourns Weiss' loss," she told him softly.

* * *

"Ready?" asked Vincent, sitting down in the other computer chair.

"Ready," agreed Shelke. "Do not be concerned for my safety, Vincent Valentine. This SND presents minimum risk." She faced the screen and settled comfortably in the chair. "Commencing SND in three…two…one…"

Vincent saw the glow of her eyes change from blue to amber and settled in to wait. He had no idea how long it would take her to find the information he sought, let alone retrieve it. He hadn't thought to ask before she made the link, and he wasn't sure if she could hear him while she made the dive into the system. And he didn't want to distract her, just in case such a distraction would prove to be harmful, or even fatal.

Which left him with the admittedly unappealing option of sitting there and waiting for something to happen. With a sigh, he spun the chair to face the other computer. Nero's file was still on the screen, the image of the Tsviet's face grainy, as though they had enlarged it too much. Maybe they hadn't wanted to risk themselves by approaching for a clearer photograph. He considered the image – Nero's face was framed by a dull, metallic looking black, and the position of his neck in relation to his head was…awkward. Like he was trying to wrench himself free of something. Like he was…chained.

Vincent felt icy certainty crawl over his skin. These 'Researchers' had taken an image of their subject as he attempted to wrench himself free of chains.

He hadn't given much thought to the Tsviets after the Omega incident, not until this…theory had come to light. Rosso had been decidedly unhinged – he could still recall her mad laughter as she plunged to her death. Azul had been just as mad as her, in his own way, and Vincent still shuddered to think of _that_ end. Shelke, of course, was Shelke, and it was difficult to judge Weiss – the man's body had been under Hojo's control. But Nero?

He had pitied Nero. Been disturbed by him, of course – no one who called the sound of death a lullaby was could be called 'sane' – but witnessing the man's supposed demise, betrayed by the brother he had gone to such lengths for, had evoked pity. He'd even felt a bit of indignation on Nero's behalf at the mocking tone in Hojo's voice when he talked about the dark Tsviet. Just a little bit, probably more because it was Hojo doing the insulting than anything, but indignation nonetheless.

Vincent shook himself. _I cannot afford to think like that_.

He turned the chair away from the computer and chose to watch Shelke instead. He could see the amber glow spilling from under the helmet. Occasionally, one of her fingers would twitch, as though she was pressing keys that no one else could see.

"Are you restless, Vincent Valentine?" asked the Tsviet suddenly. The gunslinger jumped.

"I didn't realize – "

"That I was aware while completing an SND?"

A brief pause. "Yes."

"It depends on the difficulty of the dive," Shelke explained. "Shinra is a dead system – its defences are inactive, and in some places, completely destroyed. I am able to carry on a conversation in the normal world and still retrieve information in an SND such as this. What were you thinking of, Vincent Valentine?"

He hesitated.

"You were thinking of Nero." Shelke's tone made it a statement.

No point in denying it. "Yes." A pause. "I was…wondering…what his life must have been like, for him to be so…unhinged." That hadn't been exactly what he was thinking, but it was as close as he could come to admitting his true thoughts.

"What gave you the idea that he was unhinged?" asked Shelke, her tone puzzled. "Nero is perfectly sane." Vincent frowned. That didn't tally with what he had seen. "There is no denying that he is twisted," continued the ex-Tsviet. "But he is not insane."

"He didn't seem sane when I met him," murmured Vincent.

"The Nero that you encountered was under quite a lot of strain." Shelke's voice sounded a little more distant, and Vincent heard the computer behind him beep. "He had been using the darkness frequently and that – " She frowned, then continued. "That places further pressure on his mind. A normal – " The frown deepened, and her right hand twitched. "A normal person entering Oblivion relives their worst memories. To enter the darkness is to feel like you are dying. It is enough to send most into madness. And when the mind breaks, the darkness swallows you."

Vincent examined the floor. "And Nero?"

"That Nero has survived for so long with his sanity intact is testament to his strength of will," said Shelke. "But he is far from immune to the effects of Oblivion. He was…as you would be if you were inches from breaking under the strain of holding back the monsters." Vincent considered the growing pressure in his mind, the semi-lucidity of the journey to Nibelheim. His control had been slippery then, and there were times when he had almost lost the battle for his body.

He felt a surge of respect for Nero's mental strength. He had thought himself beset in the days when Chaos had still been around and there was no real threat from the monsters unless he lost his temper. What must it have been like to wrestle with that kind of darkness from birth?

"Perhaps I have misjudged him," he murmured.

"You have not." Shelke's voice was cool. "He is still a killer. He is still responsible for thousands of deaths. The fact that he was sane when he made those decisions only condemns him further."

Vincent felt as though he had been slapped, and wasn't sure what he liked less – that Shelke had delivered a verbal blow in the form of an undeniable accusation, or that his mind immediately tried to provide an denial.

"Do not fall into the trap of thinking of him as family," said Shelke coolly, seeming to read his thoughts. "Nero has no loyalty to anyone but himself and Weiss."

"Do you think he will order Deepground to attack the W.R.O.?" This was safer ground – nothing about motivations, just the actions. Actions were simple.

"I don't know," said Shelke. "If we are lucky, he will be incapacitated by the news of his brother's death for some time." She shifted. "It is more likely he would single you out as a target than the W.R.O."

There was a long silence. "What happened to his mother?" asked Vincent softly. The file had not mentioned her at all.

"Nero's darkness absorbed her when he was born," Shelke replied, her words taking on a vaguely clipped sound. He suspected that she was becoming annoyed with him.

"Did she agree to the experiments?" Had she been willing to risk her child for the sake of science, or hadn't she been given a chance to protest? He hoped – fervently – that it was the latter. There were too many parallels between Lucrecia and this unknown mother for him to be comfortable with the situation.

"I don't know," said the ex-Tsviet with a barely perceptible shrug. "It doesn't matter."

For the second time in ten minutes, Vincent felt as though he had been slapped. This time, though, he had a different reason to dislike the blow.

Sometimes it was easy to forget that Shelke had been a Tsviet. She had never looked as formidable an opponent as the rest of them, and out of her uniform there was no visible mark on her that could be immediately connected to Deepground. The cool, modulated tone of voice she used could be explained away – the sheer intelligence brushed off, if that was the right term for it.

There was no reason to think she was as twisted as her counterparts. She had never demonstrated the kind of indifference to violence or pain that had characterized Azul, Rosso and Nero. Any forming opinions about her apathy towards her sister had been tempered by the fact that she had been obviously affected by what Reeve had told her about Shalua's suffering. He had never even considered the possibility that she could be as cruel as the other Tsviets.

But to brush off those choices as though they were irrelevant? He supposed that they were irrelevant in the fact that it didn't matter what the circumstances had been, events had progressed that way, but…

The door opened.

"Oh. Vincent."

"Hello, Reeve," said the gunslinger, abandoning the train of thought with relief.

"Are you both feeling better?"

"I am fine, thank you," said Shelke, at the same time Vincent nodded. Reeve started violently at the sound of Shelke's voice.

"Shinra is a dead system," said Vincent, barely concealing his amusement at Reeve's reaction. "Shelke can carry on a conversation in the real world and retrieve the information at the same time." He glanced behind the younger man to the door. "Where's Yuffie?"

"Organizing the troops," said Reeve. "We're going to set up a surveillance line around Midgar."

"A wise course of action," murmured Shelke, her fingers twitching again.

"You seem to be the only one who thinks so," Reeve said with a chuckle.

"Perhaps that is because I am the only one who can comprehend the kind of threat that Deepground presents."

Vincent frowned, glancing at the ex-Tsviet. Where had that arrogance come from? She had never acted that way before.

_What is going on?_

"You certainly have a better idea than the rest of us," acknowledged Reeve amiably, seeming to miss the questionable tone. "How long is this likely to take?"

"I am unsure," Shelke said. "It may be some time." She frowned, her whole hand shifting to the arm of the chair. "Professor Hojo's records are quite extensive."

"Then Vincent and I shouldn't distract you," said Reeve. The tone was still amiable, but there was a subtle undertone of command in his voice. He glanced at the gunslinger, who hesitated a moment before getting up.

"Reeve is right," he said. "Thank you for doing this, Shelke."

"You are welcome," she said calmly, her hand shifting back down to her lap and her mouth relaxing back into a more neutral expression.

Vincent followed Reeve out of the room. They were halfway down the corridor before he dared to speak. "Do you think she's not trustworthy?" he asked in an undertone.

Reeve blinked at him, seemingly surprised by the question. "Of course not. Why do you ask?"

_Then why did you practically drag me out of the room?_ "I thought she was acting strangely. Not like herself."

Reeve sighed. "She's probably feeling quite insecure, Vincent. You didn't hear what Yuffie said – I wouldn't be surprised if the way Shelke is acting was just a response to her being hurt by the accusations."

A neat explanation. It made sense. But…

"Then why did we leave?"

"Because I thought she might be able to work better if she didn't have any distractions," replied Reeve, still sounding puzzled. "Just because she is _able_ to carry on a conversation doesn't mean that she _should_. And I think she might need a little bit of alone time at the moment, Vincent."

There was a subtle rebuke in Reeve's tone that left Vincent feeling slightly ashamed of his suspicion.

"So what do we do now?" he asked..

"Glad you asked," Reeve said cheerfully. Vincent felt his stomach sink. "_You're_ going to the medical levels to get those cuts looked at." The ex-Turk flicked a glanced down at his right sleeve.

"I'm fine," he said, knowing how useless the words were. And judging by the gleam in Reeve's eyes, he knew it too.

"I'm sure you are," said Reeve. "But you're still going to get them looked at. Who knows when the last time you cleaned that claw was?"

"...Last week."

Reeve pretended not to hear.

* * *

Shelke heard the door whoosh shut with no small relief. It had seemed like a simple plan, easily justifiable and easily executed at the time of forming it. But now... She was having second thoughts.

_What does it matter if Lucrecia's neurodata is the main influence on my behaviour?_

A stupid question.

_Is this the right way to go about declaring my mental independence?_

A more relevant question, and, unfortunately, one she couldn't answer. But that was part of the problem, of course – how could she judge what was truly her own decisions and what was Lucrecia's influences? Her solution to that had been to consider increasingly more far-fetched and even downright dangerous plans, and trying to judge her own reaction. This one had produced the most violent reaction, and was therefore the path of action that she had chosen.

_And besides, _she told herself_. It is possible that this could save Vincent Valentine's life._

She refused to consider the possibility that it might shorten it.

With a deep breath, Shelke rose from the Shinra systems and dived into Deepground's.

* * *

"_...if a filthy being like you infected it...!"_

"_Silence." Oh, how satisfying it was to say that. _

"_What?"_

"_Silence! I'm speaking with my brother." He could almost hear him, whispering at the back of the mind, trying to regain his body after being dragged back from the Lifestream. If only this stupid man, this idiotic, arrogant man who had _dared_ usurp the flesh would _shut up_ for a moment._

"_You're what?" Idiot._

"_Dear Weiss." Almost a plea. _

Please, be in there. Don't let me have failed you completely_._

_Weiss' head shifted. "Nero."_

_He could almost have cried aloud with relief, but now wasn't the time. Holding to this form hurt, and the corrupt professor still had a strong foothold in Weiss' body. The only way to free Weiss would be to become one with him – and drive out the second mind that had no right to be there. _

_He knelt, put his hands on his brother's shoulders. The contact would hold the professor off for a while, and every second was helping Weiss regain his strength. "Let us come together," he said. "Let us become one, so that none may ever tear us apart." He wrapped his arms tightly around Weiss, pushing Hojo back._

"_Yes," breathed Weiss, now exerting his own strength to sit up. "Let us – let us go join him." The words are all he needed, and Nero let the darkness begin to dissipate, swirling around them both._

"_Weiss." Barely a whisper, an exhalation of a final breath._

_At the edges of his hearing, over the whiny scientist's useless protests, he heard his name as the world vanished._

* * *

Nero's breathing evened out, and Argent breathed a sigh of relief. She had learned, through experience, that trying to wake Nero from his nightmares was a useless and often near-fatal exercise, but she had been prepared to try.

The door opened, and she whirled, ready to chew the fool out. But the soldier chose to stand just outside the room rather than come in, snapping to attention and saluting her smartly.

"What is it?" she asked curtly.

"Ma'am, there has been unauthorized activity within the network again," said the soldier, trying to scale his voice back from a parade ground shout and not succeeding terribly well. "They're asking for orders."

_They _being the techies, the small group of DG operatives trained in computer hacking and viruses. Normally self-governed since Argent was quite willing to leave the technological front for them to deal with as they saw fit. And if they were asking for orders...

"I'll go over and view this for myself," she told him curtly. "You stand guard outside this door. Make sure that no one enters."

Argent brushed past the soldier, who took up his position beside the door without another word. She forced herself to walk, because it was be unsightly for a Tsviet to run anywhere when there wasn't an obvious threat, but she did walk quickly.

And wondered just why Shelke was attempting another SND into a system that could permanently damage her mind.

* * *

**Notes: **Ye gods. I love Nero dearly, and the hugging part of that scene is one of my favourite parts of the game (total 'aww' moment). But seriously, couldn't they have come up with some less wrong-sounding lines? Honestly. It's not like they had to lip-sync it, since Nero wears a muzzle.

Anyway. I've had my little rant. Onto more important things.

Nine reviews. _Nine freaking reviews_. **KenYasha**, **EyeoftheTigerKissoftheDragon**, **robertmarilyn**, **monitorscreen**, **Malselene**, **Kiki-sama**, **little dog**, **MikkiMouse**, **MedliR**: you guys are awesome. I love you all. I can't describe the happy, encouraged feeling I get from receiving such nice reviews.

See you next time!


	11. Chapter 11

_Started: 22__nd __May 2008_

_Finished: 27__th__ May 2008_

* * *

**Chapter Eleven**

Shelke did not expect to be challenged as she began her descent into the Deepground system. She understood the way that the minds of the 'techies' worked – they would want to know what she wanted so badly that she would make a second attempt to hack the system. She didn't feel worried about the fact that they knew who was doing the hacking – after all, she was the only successful subject of _that_ particular experiment. They would recognize her work anywhere, so it was no use trying to disguise herself.

Sure enough, she reached the main system without any resistance, and headed purposefully for the research centre. She took care to make her movements look confident, though she felt wary. This was the most risky part of her plan, the part when the most could go wrong. Once they saw that she was making for the same place as last time, there was every possibility they would activate the defences before she could do what she came here to do.

Up ahead, she saw the research centre, and subtly increased her pace.

* * *

Argent blinked at the screen. "The research centre? Again?"

"That's what it looks like," said the techie, who had previously been typing furiously and now appeared slightly sulky about her order to hold off the activation of the defences. It made her wonder why they had asked for orders in the first place, but she assumed that it was a formality, a leftover impulse from the days when they couldn't so much as breathe without the blessing of an authority.

"Why?" Argent murmured to herself, hoping that the thoughts, spoken aloud, would lead to different conclusions than if simply thought silently. "Shelke is far from stupid – why would she attempt entry to a place that she was trapped by once before?"

"I don't know," said the techie. "With your permission, ma'am?" Distantly she noted the use of the formality when he was asking for something he wanted, and filed that away for future reference.

"Delay," she said more calmly. "I want to see what she does."

"With all due respect, ma'am – "

"Silence," said Argent, settling back into her cool, clipped tones. "Watch."

Sullenly, the techie turned back to the screen.

* * *

Shelke threw the 'doors' of the research centre open with an uncharacteristic flourish.

_Pay attention_, she told her watchers, striding down the corridors to the records room, and making a beeline for the file cabinet she needed. Removing the file, she sent herself deeper inside the system, forgoing her mental projection. The room dissolved into a blue grid, a mass of patterned energy. What had been a file was now another part of the grid, a pale yellow stream of zeroes and ones.

_Now the tricky part._

* * *

"She's running a validation check," said the techie in disbelief. "She's running a validation check when we could obliterate her at any moment."

Argent narrowed her eyes. "Which file is she running the check on?"

The techie began to type, fingers flying rapidly over the keyboard. "It's the medical file of Nero the Sable," he said eventually, apparently making sense of a screenful of gibberish.

"Why?" murmured Argent for the second time in as many minutes.

"I have no idea, ma'am."

Argent refrained from saying that it wasn't the techie she had been talking to. "Continue to monitor her activities," she said eventually. "Let me know when she attempts to leave the system."

The techie saluted sullenly as Argent moved to another terminal. Why would Shelke be so interested in Nero's file? Not even that, really, if what the techie was saying was true. She was checking to make sure that the file hadn't been _altered_. What was there in Nero's file that could possibly be of such interest to Shelke that she was making sure that it wasn't a hoax?

She called up the records and began scanning Nero's file.

* * *

Shelke smiled to herself as the information split into a second stream. Someone had taken the bait. Now, if she played this right… She hunted for the second file, the one that led back to the main Shinra system. It was easy enough to find – the files _were_ connected, after all. If her watchers were paying the slightest bit of attention, what she did next would be enough to complete her task.

* * *

"Ma'am."

Argent glanced up from her screen.

"She's running a validation check on a second file."

"A second file?" repeated Argent, barely resisting the impulse to leap up. "Which file?"

"I'm not sure," said the techie. He sounded like was speaking through gritted teeth. "It's not within the main Deepground system."

_Shelke, what are you doing?_

"Do you want me to find the file?"

"Please," murmured Argent, mulling over the possibilities. Was Shelke trying to sabotage the system? If the second file was not within the main Deepground system, could it be a link to some kind of virus?

Argent dismissed the idea almost immediately. Destroying the 'main' Deepground computer system would do nothing more than destroy files. Nothing important was controlled through the main system – the only thing that it contained was records. Every aspect of the security and environment control was kept on a separate system whose defences were active all the time – and that meant more than the firewalls that Shelke could dodge so easily. And the ex-Tsviet would know this; she had a hand in the design.

So what could she be doing?

"It's another medical file," said the techie.

"Do we have a name, soldier?" asked Argent coolly.

"Vincent Valentine," said the techie with a shrug. "I don't see a connection."

"But she does," murmured Argent, feeling like there was something obvious that she should be grasping. Shelke was doing this for a _reason_. There _had_ to be some kind of connection, some kind of link…

The stagnant mako research? Vincent Valentine had been the host of Chaos, could be called the first success of that particular experiment. Of course, this had been unbeknownst to the Researchers, who probably would have foregone the experiments that created Nero if they had known that there was already a life form that existed through tainted Lifestream.

No. Shelke already knew about that. She wouldn't have needed to run checks on the two files to confirm that kind of connection.

"Call up that file," she said grimly.

* * *

Shelke watched as the information stream doubled again, and smiled to herself. Her task was done. Now it was only a matter of time before they found the link.

It was a gamble, one that relied on the assumption that Nero would be informed of this discovery, but she felt that it was an acceptable one. The second assumption, and the more risky one, was gambling on Nero's reaction. But there was no way to tell which way that wind would blow.

She waited for the validation to finish (and come up empty-handed for changes in the time-frame she had specified) before she closed the file and headed for the main Shinra system.

* * *

"She's leaving the system," said the techie, sounding frustrated.

"Leave her," commanded Argent. "We would gain nothing from killing her." _And we could learn something if she remains alive._

The techie sulked, gazing sullenly at the computer.

Argent ignored him and continued to scan Vincent Valentine's file. But as she continued to search for a connection that would sufficiently interest Shelke, she couldn't banish the niggling feeling that the ex-Tsviet had played her.

* * *

Shelke was back in the real world before she could truly feel safe, lifting the heavy device from her head and carefully rotating her neck to loosen tight muscles. She had expected _some_ resistance to her leaving the system – had been prepared to tangle with defences, even prepared a way for her to escape it. But she had been allowed the leave without even a show of resistance. If she hadn't seen them open both of the files, she would have doubted that there was still anyone monitoring the system.

"How'd it go?" Shelke jumped, the helmet nearly jerking out of her hands.

"You startled me, Yuffie Kisaragi," she said, setting the device carefully on the desk. "And I believe that my objective has been...successfully accomplished." She turned around, and blinked in surprised. A large, purplish-blue bruise was splashed across Yuffie's right cheek. Shelke tilted her head to the side in a silent bid for information.

"I was stupid enough to run at Vincent when he was trying to control the monsters," said Yuffie, eyes drawn to the ground. A red flush stained her cheeks.

"I was not aware that his control had disintegrated that far," Shelke said softly, glancing to the other terminal. Yuffie shifted uncomfortably. "Aren't you supposed to be briefing W.R.O. soldiers?"

"I finished up. They're moving out right now."

"I see." Shelke stood, and grabbed for the arm of the chair as the room swam in front of her.

"Shelke?" Yuffie's voice was tinged with concern.

"I have been...remiss...in taking care of myself," said Shelke as the room steadied. She noted that she was feeling nauseous, and her joints ached – not good signs.

"Remi – " Yuffie began, before her eyes widened slightly in understanding. Without another word, she stepped back to the glass cylinder at the back of the room and began pressing buttons. "When was the last time you dosed yourself?"

"Prior to arriving," said Shelke, carefully pushing herself away from the chair.

"I thought you said you needed mako every day to survive!" Yuffie sounded cross.

"It depends on what I am doing." Several unsteady steps brought her up to another desk, which she clutched for support. "I have not been doing anything…strenuous, so there has been no need for such…regular doses."

"You're an idiot," said Yuffie succinctly, stepping back from the control panel. "I've set it to maximum concentration, but that's still probably less than Deepground, so you'll have to stay in there for a while."

Shelke nodded, and even managed to walk over there without tripping over her own feet. "Please tell Vincent Valentine that Professor Hojo's records have been recovered," she said faintly as she climbed into the tube and leaned against the far wall. Yuffie shut the device with perhaps a little more vigour than was strictly necessary and pressed the button. Soft waves of green began to pulse around the ex-Tsviet.

"I'll do that," the ninja muttered.

Shelke nodded, and, closing her eyes, went to sleep.

* * *

Vincent, as he pulled his shirt back on, reflected on the problem of having form-fitting clothes – while they were useful in battle (though most would say he nullified all the good he might do himself by wearing that cloak), it meant that when other people might have been able to just push up a sleeve, he had to take the article of clothing off. And that was not a good thing for him, because the multiple scars on his torso – the result of Hojo's experiments – raised questions from the W.R.O.'s medical staff that he really didn't want to answer. Luckily, Reeve had anticipated this and remained behind to deter the asking of those questions.

The doctor who had examined the puncture marks on Vincent's arm looked vaguely put out about having his curiosity thwarted.

"Thank you," said Vincent as politely as he could, trying to be fair. After all, the doctor _had_ used a healing materia to close the wounds instead of simply bandaging the arm up. That would have been a nuisance for the week or so that it would have taken for the injuries to seal up enough to remove the binding. As it was, he could stop worrying about it.

_Until the next time my control is contested._

"You're welcome," said the doctor. "You know, that claw is a hazard – if you're going to go around digging your fingers into your arm, you should really take it off."

"This is not a common occurrence," Vincent said softly. "But thank you for your concern."

He left as quickly as he could without being rude. Reeve was laughing as he jogged to catch up.

"I'm glad you think this is funny," muttered the gun-slinger.

"It's one of the more amusing things I've seen lately," said Reeve in a tone that might have been labeled 'gleeful' if it had been a little more pronounced. Luckily for the W.R.O.'s commissioner, it wasn't. If it had been, Vincent might have been forced to take some kind of action.

"So what now?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction.

All traces of amusement vanished from Reeve's face. "Well, I suppose we should go check on Shelke and see if she's managed to get that data dump yet. If Hojo's files don't have what you're looking for…"

"I don't even want to think about that possibility," Vincent said softly.

"None of us do," said Reeve gently. "But we have to acknowledge it."

Vincent grunted, eyes on the ground

"_There_ you are! Geez, I've been looking all over for you!" Glancing up, Vincent halted. Yuffie was standing directly in his path, fists planted firmly on hips and glaring at him. His gaze caught on the large bruise, and his eyes immediately found the floor again.

"You should get that looked at," he murmured, trying to pass her. She grabbed his recently healed arm.

"Don't you try to run away from _me_, Vincent Valentine," she said sternly, before treating him to one of her sunny smiles. "Not that you could. I'm Superninja Yuffie, remember?"

"I'm sure you mentioned it once or twice." Half-heartedly, he tried to pull himself out of her grasp.

"Nuh-uh, Vinnie, you're not getting away," she said cheerfully. "You're going to come with me." With surprising strength, she began to pull Vincent down the corridor – or try to. Even without Chaos' strength enhancing his own, Vincent was no pushover. The gunslinger twisted to look at Reeve, and was dismayed to find that the younger man was covering his mouth with one hand. The corners of his eyes were crinkled with amusement.

"If I may ask, Yuffie – " said the W.R.O.'s commissioner.

"Shoot!" said she, halting her tugs for a moment. Vincent felt disgruntled. Why was it that she would listen to Reeve but not to him?

"Why are you so intent on dragging Vincent off?"

"Shelke sent me!" Yuffie said this without losing a particle of her cheerful demeanor. "Something about finishing the SND and getting Hojo's records for him."

"I find it hard to believe that Shelke sent you to drag me back to the lab," muttered Vincent.

"Well, she didn't say to _drag_ you. But I wouldn't _have_ to drag you if you weren't so stubborn –" and she punctuated the last two words with two hard pokes to his upper arm.

Vincent heaved a deep sigh and refrained from telling her that all she had needed to do was ask. "Well, let's go," he said with resignation.

"Right!" Yuffie beamed at Reeve. "See ya, Reeve!" With that, she took a two-handed grip on Vincent's arm and set about dragging him down the corridor, this time with better results.

* * *

Shelke awoke as the glass tube hissed open and Vincent Valentine looked in on her. Her heart warmed at the sight of him, and she smiled before she could regulate her own actions.

"Greetings, Vincent Valentine," she said, carefully putting her weight back on her feet. She was stiff from sleeping in an awkward position and she was cold from leaning against glass, but on the whole she felt a lot better than before she got into the tube.

"You should be more careful about taking care of yourself," said Vincent softly, his tone rebuking.

"There was too much to do," she said. "And I am aware of my own limitations." A vague resentment colored her tone, but Vincent did not appear to notice.

"It's better to be safe than sorry," he said. "It wouldn't hurt you to take a mako bath every day."

She bit back the inexplicable urge to snap at him – not even Argent had been so overbearing as to tell her when to dose herself with mako! – and said with iron calm, "I suppose that you are right." She gestured to the computer. "Did you wish to take a look at Professor Hojo's records?"

He glanced at the terminal. "Yes, I'll do that," he said. But he didn't move.

"Vincent Valentine, you are standing in my way," she said coolly.

"Are you sure that you've been in there long enough?"

She blinked at him. "I feel fine."

With evident reluctance, he stepped aside, and she climbed out of the tube. Pointedly, she sat down at the other computer, and heard him sigh.

"I'm sorry, Shelke," said Vincent. "I don't mean to treat you like a child."

"You would do well to remember that I am a legal adult," she said coldly. "I do not appreciate being 'babied'." Feeling strangely defiant, she added, "I can take care of myself." Not really sure what else to do, she opened the Deepground files that she had already copied to the W.R.O. database and began to scan them, checking for what might be useful. The file on the DG beasts would be informative for those would have make up the surveillance line around Midgar.

"I know," said Vincent softly, and she heard him sit down in the other chair with another sigh. "Sometimes it's easy to forget that you were a Tsviet."

Shelke's hands stilled, and she fought down the inexplicable urge to show him what entailed Tsviet-level combat skills. She had not been at her full strength the first time she had fought him – using the 'colorless' form took energy, and a lot of it. But now, fresh from a mako bath, she could run circles around an ex-Turk. Especially now that he lacked the augmentation of Chaos…

For a long moment she balanced on an edge that she hadn't known was there – the line that separated Shelke Rui from Shelke the Transparent. It was almost like looking into a mirror, only to notice that the reflection shown was subtly different.

Then suddenly she was back in the computer chair, with Vincent Valentine calling her name and feeling like she had had the breath knocked out of her.

"I am fine," she said, cutting across the concern. Her fingers began to move again, sorting the files into useful categories.

It was several minutes before she felt Vincent's eyes leave her.

* * *

**Notes:** I do not like the first third of this chapter _at all_. Unfortunately, I can't figure out how to make it better, so for now it remains as it is. (Revisions will be made once the story is finished.)

I nearly fainted when I received the tenth and eleventh reviews for this chapter. Wow, guys. Just wow. Your support is so much appreciated. So, without further ado: **NRGburst**, **monitorscreen**, **Rayvne Rayne**, **EyeoftheTigerKissoftheDragon**, **MedliR**, **Sweetsong22**, **little dog**, **Malselene**, **robertmarilyn**, **Kiki-sama** and **KenYasha** – you guys rock. I know I say this every chapter, but seriously, you do.

One final note. If I'm boring or frustrating you with my lack of updates, I've added links to my Youtube and DeviantArt profiles to my main profile on this site. Hopefully what's contained there will provide temporary amusement while I finish writing the next chapter (and besides, I can do things with videos and artwork that I can't do in writing…yet).

See you all next time!


	12. Chapter 12

_Started: 28__th__ May 2008_

_Finished: 30__th__ May 2008_

Dedicated to **MedliR**. You rock my Tsviet-loving world, girl.

* * *

**Chapter Twelve**

"Ma'am?"

Argent did not react to the sound of the soldier's voice. She hadn't moved from her position in the last ten minutes, and she really didn't intend to until she had considered every angle of this situation. To react to outside stimuli would be to disrupt her musings and possibly lose a vital realization. And she really couldn't afford that.

In the part of her mind that was still reacting to her senses, she heard the soldier leave, not as quietly as they had entered. They probably thought that she had gone as insane as Nero. It hadn't taken long for the story of the dark Tsviet's psychotic outburst to spread through every corner of the ruined complex. As far as she was concerned, it was only a matter of time before their leadership was questioned.

_Not that I am doing much to counteract such a belief at this moment_, she thought sardonically.

It had taken her two days and several reads of both files before she found the connection, and she wondered why it had taken her that long. The line that was causing her such a dilemma seemed to leap out her now, as though written in ALL CAPITALS.

_How_ could she have missed that line several times? She was trained to notice the details, and had made enough mistakes in the past to know how important it was to make sure you had _all_ the information. Why had this kind of connection not occurred to her before?

_Because I didn't consider it important. Because it had never mattered to him – or to any of us – what our heritage was._

No, a genetic connection had not occurred to her at all. Why worry about parents when you were trying to free yourself from daily brutality? To the best of her knowledge, even as a child, Nero had never asked about family other than Weiss. Of course, given his upbringing, it was possible he hadn't even realized what parents _were_.

She was avoiding the problem.

At least now she could understand why Shelke had risked her mind being destroyed to validate this data. She couldn't imagine that this 'Vincent Valentine' was any happier about this knowledge than Nero would be.

Argent had never tasted alcohol in her life, but she had heard about its effects. And she had never wished more strongly for clouded thought processes than when she considered breaking this news to her colleague. It was her _duty_ to inform Nero of this discovery.

That didn't stop her from wistfully considering keeping the knowledge from him, considering how much simpler it would make everything.

Not for the first time, Argent wished that she knew more about what had happened while she was still trapped belowground. The reports of the soldiers were mostly of the early stages – reports of successful attacks on various locations, the first and second assaults on the W.R.O. headquarters. But beyond that, she knew only what she could piece together from what information she had been able to discern from those early reports and the data recovered from the broken terminals in the main parts of the complex.

That the W.R.O. had made an assault on Midgar had been easy to see – the damage was easily seen, not to mention the sudden drop in the amount of reports made. Nero himself had logged the deaths of Rosso and Azul, though he hadn't gone into detail, and Argent guessed that there had been too much going on for him to make the kind of formal report he was trained to produce.

And both Rosso and Azul's death were at the hands of this 'Vincent Valentine'. He must be a formidable fighter. Of course, being an ex-Turk, his fighting style would have been different than that of a Tsviet's – perhaps that had given him an advantage? Or were his victories due to the augmentations that allowed his body to stand being the vessel of Chaos?

(If Argent was strictly honest with herself, she was a little annoyed her fellow Tsviets had been so easily conquered by an upstart little ex-Turk. She fairly itched to question Nero about this Vincent, and find out exactly what he was capable of.)

And he would have defeated, Nero, too. That really stuck in her throat – though whether it was frustration or an unfamiliar sensation of fear, she couldn't say. Rosso and Azul had received most of their training at the hands of others, but Nero had been her student since he was nine years old and the Researchers decided that his darkness was under enough control to take him out of the labs. Nero never would have stood by and let Vincent take a run at Weiss – the dark Tsviet would have defended his brother to his last breath.

So what had happened?

And how would Nero react when he found out that the man who was responsible for the death of his brother was also his father?

* * *

"Vincent Valentine." The ex-Turk opened one eyelid and regarded Shelke, now dressed in W.R.O. clothes that had been hastily tailored to fit her small frame.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, sitting up a little more. His back felt cold as he pulled away from the warm stone. Shelke shook her head, and sat down cross-legged in front of him.

"I merely thought that it would be better for me to come out here rather than sit in Shalua's laboratory and hope for something to happen."

Vincent cocked an eyebrow, but sat back slowly and let his body absorb warmth from the building. He could feel Shelke's eyes on him. "Does the lack of Deppground activity disturb you?" he asked, more to direct her focus away from him than anything else.

Shelke hesitated. "A little," she said finally. "It has only been two days since Nero was rescued, so he is probably still recovering. But I cannot help but feel that this complete lack of movement is somewhat suspicious."

"You know Deepground better than we do."

Shelke hummed slightly in agreement. "Vincent Valentine, what will you do if Nero decides to choose you as a target?"

He really wished that she hadn't broached this subject with him. "I don't know," he said, honestly. "I don't think he'd be willing to talk." _And I know I'd rather avoid a fight._

"Do you think that the knowledge of your relationship would convince him not to kill you?"

There was something strange in her tone, but he couldn't put his finger on it. "I don't know," he repeated. Shelke made a small sound that could have indicated dissatisfaction with his answer, and it left him feeling nettled. "You know him better than I do," he pointed out. "What do _you_ think he'll do?"

Shelke remained silent for several long moments. "It is difficult to predict," she said. "The knowledge that you are his father _could _make him hesitate…"

Vincent didn't like the way she stressed the word 'could'.

"…or it is possible that it would have no effect on him at all."

"And there's no chance that he would simply decide to leave me alone, since I've already proven twice that I'm stronger than him?"

"Taking on a more skilled opponent has never bothered him in the slightest – especially when that opponent has lost the advantage presented during the first fights."

That brought him up short. He glanced up at Shelke – her hands were clasped in her lap, eyes down and mouth set grimly.

"That's right," he said eventually. "With Chaos gone, I have no defence against his darkness, do I?"

"It is possible that there would be a residual effect," said the ex-Tsviet. "There's no way to tell unless…" She trailed off.

"Unless I face him again," finished Vincent.

There was a long silence. Shelke got to her feet.

"You would not face him alone, Vincent Valentine," she said as she turned to go. "I would help you."

"And what can you do against him?" Vincent hadn't meant for the question to be an accusation, but by the way that Shelke's shoulders stiffened he could tell that she had taken it as one.

"Little," she said shortly. "But I would provide whatever assistance I could."

Vincent watched her walk away, shoulders still angrily set.

* * *

Yuffie's expression at the moment that Shelke walked in could best be described as 'restrained'. Furthermore, if there had been a particularly observant person watching, they might have concluded, judging by the tic in Yuffie's cheek and the way that her right hand was clutching the mouse, that the restraint wasn't going to last for much longer.

Shelke, who had spent ten years of her life dealing with such displays of crumbling restraint, gave Yuffie another few minutes before she decided to smash the computer out of sheer frustration.

"Is there something that I can do to assist you, Yuffie Kisaragi?" she asked, automatically distributing her weight so that she could move quickly into combat stance should the situation require it.

A visible tremor shook the ninja. "No," said Yuffie with such iron control that the veins on her neck stood out.

"Perhaps if I helped you sort through the sent reports?" pressed the ex-Tsviet. She liked that computer.

"There's no need," said Yuffie with a rictus grin. "There's _nothing happening_ over there."

"This frustrates you," noted Shelke.

"Of _course_ it frustrates me!" shouted Yuffie, leaping up. "Why aren't they _doing_ anything!?"

"Because their leader is incapacitated and no sane officer would want to risk Nero's…displeasure…by making an incorrect decision."

"You're telling me that there's _no one_ who's going to do something until Freak-face gives the green light?"

"No one sane," repeated Shelke with a small shrug. "The only ones with equal or greater authority than Nero were the other Tsviets and Weiss."

Yuffie huffed out a frustrated breath and flopped back down on the chair, sending it rolling backwards across the floor with a protesting creak. "Well, that _sucks_," she said sullenly.

"Indeed," said Shelke gravely, relieved that the computer was safe…for now.

"Wait, does that mean you have the authority to give Deepground people orders?" There was a mischievous gleam in Yuffie's eyes.

"No," said Shelke. "I was slated for execution. No Deepground soldier would obey an order I gave."

Yuffie slumped again. "Well…that sucks too."

"It does mean that we are likely to have several more uneventful days." Carefully, Shelke sat down in the other chair and watched Yuffie nudge hers around in circles.

The ninja groaned. "I almost wish that Freak-face would get better. Then maybe we'd have something to do."

Shelke decided that reminding Yuffie that she had work to do would probably be unwise, given the circumstances and the disaster that had just been averted. "It will not take long for the physical injuries to heal, given the effectiveness of the medical staff," she said calmly. "But the news of Weiss' death may render him insensate for a while."

Yuffie groaned again and muttered something in Wutainese that sounded uncomplimentary. "Why do all the bad guys have to be such pansies?" she asked in Common.

"Pansies?" asked Shelke with a raised eyebrow.

"Sephiroth was all hung up on his mother, and so were those silly Remnants. And then we get Nero, who is all love-sick for his brother." Yuffie flapped a hand. "Pansies."

Shelke considered this for several moments. Somehow, the word 'pansy' did not seem to apply to a man who, though 'love-sick' was indeed an accurate and amusing description, could make you see your worst nightmares and then shatter your mind. Or at least, it didn't apply to him as long as he was within earshot.

Her lips twitched upwards.

Yuffie continued to spin her chair in circles.

"Are you getting dizzy?" asked Shelke after several minutes had passed.

"Not really."

"I thought that you suffered from air-sickness."

"Yeah," said Yuffie carelessly. "But this isn't an airship. This is the W.R.O. headquarters and me spinning on a chair." She pushed off with one strong leg and sent herself careening around the room, rotating at a speed that a top would have envied.

Shelke decided to refrain from further questions.

* * *

Nero stifled a moan as he came back to full consciousness and his pain receptors kicked in again. It was several minutes before the stabbing pain in his shoulders subsided enough for him to contemplate sitting up. He did note, though, as he made it into an upright position, that most of the pain on either side of his spine was now gone.

"How long have I been unconscious?" he murmured to himself, cautiously examining the twin bruised lumps on his head. Not more than a few days, judging by the reduction in swelling.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood up and ignored the sudden increase in pain in his shoulders and head. Yes, the wounds where he had ripped the wings partially out of his shoulder were definitely gone. However, he could still feel the metal struts on either side of his spine, so it had probably been a hasty healing.

Having taken note of his physical injuries, he turned his attention to the emotional ones.

_Weiss is dead._

For a long moment, he waited, and then nodded slightly. There was no searing agony, no unbearable pain – only a faint, niggling sense he was going to regret bottling up the emotions. He could breathe. More importantly, he could think, and plot. The emotional numbness should last long enough for what he needed to do.

"Brother," he murmured. "Wait for me a little longer. I still have one task that I need to complete."

* * *

To say that Argent was shocked when Nero walked into the training area was an understatement – and for the first time that she could remember, she felt a stab of fear at the sight of the dark Tsviet. She stepped on _that_ quickly, but it still remained in the form of a sick nervousness. She had never been so conscious of Nero's abilities.

If any of her thoughts showed on her face, Nero did not appear to notice them.

"I need to talk to you," he said briskly. She noted that his arms were held stiffly by his sides – he didn't move them at all apart from counterbalancing his movement. She supposed that it was an effect of being bound into a straitjacket for close to three years.

"Continue," she ordered the soldiers, who were looking to her for orders. She was also conscious of the fact that she they should have been looking to _Nero_ for orders, not her. But he didn't even appear to notice. She moved across the floor mechanically and fell into step beside him, feeling the chill that always rose from his body.

She'd heard a Researcher say once that Nero's core temperature was so low that he should, by all rights, be deep in hypothermia. He always seemed to handle the cold of Deepground better than the rest of the Tsviets (expect for Weiss, of course, because even Nero didn't walk around without a shirt on). They'd concluded that this was un-looked-for side effect of a body so saturated with stagnant mako and moved on, not being overly interested in such a thing.

"I lost my weapons during the final battle," said Nero. "I need replacements."

"What do you mean, you lost them?" asked Argent, fear suddenly gone. She felt back on solid ground now. "Didn't I tell you never to let go of your weapons?" Nero evaded her gaze. "Didn't I?"

"Yes, you did," said the dark Tsviet patiently. "You beat it into me, as I recall." He held up one hand to halt further protests. "But the situation was…unusual."

"Unusual in what way?" asked Argent suspiciously.

Nero ignored the question. "How soon can you have replacements made?"

"I had spares made while you were unconscious," she said. She'd definitely needed something soothing to do in between reading those damn files over and over again, hunting for the connection.

"Excellent," said Nero with grim pleasure. "I need them. Now."

She stopped short. Nero continued for several steps before he, too, halted.

"Why do you need your weapons so urgently?"

"That's none of your concern," he said with cold arrogance. Then he lifted one hand and brushed his spiky fringe out of his eyes, a nervous gesture she hadn't seen for years, and his tone was softer as he said, "There is…something that I need to do."

She could take a guess at what he intended to do. "You're going after Vincent Valentine." Nero blinked, and looked away, which was all the confirmation she needed. "He has defeated you before."

Nero nodded curtly. "He is immune to the effects of Oblivion." He sounded testy.

"You don't expect to be able to defeat him, do you?" asked Argent too softly. "You expect to die if you face him."

"I'm turning command of Deepground over to you," said Nero, not even attempting to deny the accusation. "You're far more suited to command than myself, in any case."

Argent unconsciously straightened herself further. "Is that a formal declaration of retirement, Nero the Sable?" she asked.

The dark Tsviet shrugged. "I suppose."

"Then, as your commanding officer, I hereby forbid you to make any attempt on the life of Vincent Valentine."

Deadly silence filled the corridor.

"Do you have a reason for this order?" Nero's voice was too soft and too reasonable. She knew that tone. It was usually the last thing that fools would hear before Oblivion swallowed them.

"Several," she said, just as cool and just as reasonable.

"I request the reasons for this order."

"You are still injured," said Argent. "Your shoulders are in need of extensive repair work, and you are not at your full strength."

"That's not why you're forbidding me to go after him."

_I'd forgotten how perceptive he could be…_

"We'll discuss that," she said rashly. "_After_ you are fully healed."

Nero stared at her for a long moment, before his lips twitched into a sardonic smile and he saluted. "As you command."

And with that, he walked off.

* * *

**Notes:** FINALLY. That final scene was so tricky…

This is the last chapter before exams. It'll probably be about two weeks before you get another one due to me needing to study and the brain-death that will result from the exams themselves.

Thanks to **MedliR**, **Malselene**, **Kiki-sama** and **LuckySevens** for reviewing!


	13. Chapter 13

_Started: 31st May 2008_

_Finished: 6th June 2008_

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen**

"Are you ready?" asked Argent, glancing behind her and flexing her wet hands to get rid of the stiff feeling in her fingers that resulted from the icy water.

Nero, sitting shirtless on the edge of a metal bench, nodded curtly. He'd refused, point-blank, to lie down, and Argent, who hadn't really expected for him to submit that way, hadn't said a word against it. After the traumatic surgery that had given him the wings in the first place, she couldn't blame him at all for being hesitant about any kind of medical procedure. Especially given – well, anesthetic simply wouldn't work on Nero the way it would on an ordinary person, and there was no soldier she trusted to administer the correct dosage at such regular intervals.

Which meant that Nero had to suffer through this bit of repair work fully conscious and with nothing to reduce the pain.

The hands that clutched the edges of the bench were white-knuckled. Though his face betrayed no hint of the fear he must be feeling, Argent gripped his shoulder reassuringly for a moment as she examined the still-open wounds. The tension in Nero's body didn't reduce in the slightest.

She caught a glimpse of Nero's face as she made the necessary incisions, and wished that she hadn't – the dark Tsviet, ordinarily pale, was as white as a sheet and beads of sweat trickled down his face as he tried not to scream. Only the knowledge that this was necessary, and that it would be useless to apologize for the pain she was causing, kept her from halting immediately. But she was thankful for the iron control that Nero was displaying – the only presence of Oblivion were a few barely visible wisps, and even the usual howling was muted.

"I know – I know what you're thinking."

Argent looked up from her work. "What?"

Nero's labored breathing echoed around the room. "You think I'm a fool."

"I can't deny that I think you a little foolish, yes." Argent carefully cleaned away most of the blood that was welling from the wounds. "Why are you so set on attacking an opponent you know you cannot defeat?"

Nero choked back a scream as she stretched the incision wide and clamped it. She thought that his body might snap into pieces, he was holding himself so rigidly. As she released him, he slumped as far as his body would allow, gasping for breath. "He killed Weiss," he said in a raw voice. "Isn't that reason enough?"

Argent remained silent for a long moment, picking up the stainless steel plate. "What I am about to say is nothing but my own opinion," she said softly. "And I may be completely wrong. I did not have regular contact with Weiss after you were found out by the Restrictors." She carefully applied glue to the metal, and pressed it firmly into place, ignoring the silent tremor that was Nero's only concession to the pain. "But I doubt that he would want you to throw your life away in a foolish attempt to avenge his death."

Nero's ragged breathing was the only sound in the room.

* * *

_I doubt that he would want you to throw your life away in a foolish attempt to avenge his death._

He'd never thought about that before. What if Argent was right? Logic told him that, if Weiss cared about him, that it probably would make his brother unhappy if Nero threw himself into a battle that would result in his death. But…

Nero considered the anger that had burned under the pain when he discovered his brother's demise. How long could he hold an emotion like that back? _Could_ he just leave Vincent alone, when the man had been responsible for the death of the only person who had ever cared about him? Well, no, that wasn't strictly true. He was fairly sure that Argent cared about him in a similar fashion – not as strongly as Weiss, but in a sort of sibling way. But he'd thought that Argent was dead at the time that he told Vincent that Weiss was the only person who had loved him. And caring wasn't the same as loving.

However…

"Would you be unhappy if Vincent killed me?" he asked, trying not to let his voice shake with the pain.

He felt Argent hesitate. "Yes," she said eventually. "I would be unhappy."

"Would you be unhappy – " He bit his lip hard enough to draw dark blood as she began to stitch up the first of the wounds. "Would you be unhappy because I was foolish enough to go against what you taught me, or would you be unhappy because I was dead?" That was an important distinction to make when you were dealing with Argent.

"A little of both." But the tone of her voice told him that it was probably going to be more of the latter.

Well, that gave him something to think about. Perhaps Argent cared more than he'd suspected.

A thought occurred to him. "Vincent doesn't like to kill."

"What makes you say that?" Interest. He should have known that she would be curious about the one who had defeated Deepground's elite warriors.

"I faced him twice." He had to pause then, try to breathe. He wasn't sure what he hated more – being drugged or having this kind of repair work done without anything to dull the pain. _She would say that it was my own fault for damaging the wings._ "But he didn't press his advantage in either of our battles."

"He beat you and then left you alone?" He could hear stark disapproval in Argent's voice.

"In – essence." He didn't think this would be a good time to tell her that he had escaped both battles and left a dangerous enemy at his back.

"And Azul? Rosso? You logged their deaths at being at his hands."

"Not – entirely accurate. He was ultimately responsible, but the circumstances – "

"Report," she said sharply. She was annoyed with him, and he felt nettled.

"Rosso engaged him at the top of an abandoned building. He was able to defeat her, but – " He had to pause again for several moments. "You know that Rosso would never acknowledge anyone as being – stronger than her."

Argent hummed in acknowledgement and disapproval. "She lost her temper?"

"She committed suicide."

Long silence.

"I didn't see her fall, but Vincent's weapon is a gun. The marks – the marks of the area cut out of the building were of a blade." He licked his lips as the pain faded a little, tasting the blood on his lips.

"Fool," said Argent with rare venom. "She abandoned the mission for the sake of her ego."

Nero decided to let the woman mentally work out her frustrations with the crimson Tsviet before he told her about how Azul had perished.

It was several minutes before Argent spoke again. "And Azul?"

"Azul engaged Vincent on an elevator platform descending into the complex. I was…present for that battle." He'd been balanced on a ceiling beam high above, where the shadows could hide him. He'd seen the place where Rosso and the Keeper had battled, and wanted to see the man's skills for himself. If Azul failed to contain Vincent, after all, it would be up to him to stop the man before he reached the reactor.

"At least you hadn't lost all sense," murmured Argent.

He ignored that. "Vincent defeated Azul in both his normal and bestial forms."

"But didn't finish him off." The disapproval of leaving an enemy living was tempered by grudging admiration of a man who had the skill, strength and wit to defeat Azul in his altered form.

"He – wasn't given the chance." He wasn't likely to forget the moment of Vincent's transformation. "Rosso had taken the Protomateria from Vincent some time ago – the thing that allowed him to control Chaos."

He heard an _ah,_ and knew that he wouldn't have to explain further.

"Chaos took control, took hold of Azul's weapon and hurled it right through him."

"You made no move to prevent it?"

Not quite disapproval.

"I didn't have the chance. Chaos was too fast."

She didn't ask him whether he would have prevented it if he could. Tsviets were bound together by the strength of their loyalty to Weiss – other bonds tended to be much weaker and a lot more flexible. If she thought that he would have learned more about an enemy by watching them annihilate an ally, she wouldn't say a word against preventing the death of a comrade.

"So, despite his considerable skills, Vincent Valentine appears to be squeamish about taking lives," mused Argent.

"That works in my favor," murmured Nero. He wondered how far Vincent could be pushed before he would finally strike the fatal blow.

"So quick to forget your orders?" asked Argent coolly.

Nero shifted his weight as carefully as he could. "You're not preventing me from going after Vincent just because I'm not at my full strength." He twisted enough that he could look at her sidelong. "I think that you know something that I don't, since you said we'd discuss it after I am fully healed." Argent's face might as well have been carved from marble for all the expression it showed, but Nero hadn't spent nearly three years under her wing for nothing. With a smirk, he lowered his head.

"I'd forgotten, while I was trapped, how perceptive you could be, Nero," she said eventually.

Trapped. That reminded him. "How did you survive? When that wing of the complex collapsed…"

"The corridors blocked, nothing more. I think that the Restrictors had planned to isolate us all from each other."

Nero mouth tightened. "While I still lived…" He paused, and thought for a moment. Then he said, "I had wondered why there seemed to be an unusual number of corpses around my area."

"How did you join the fight?" She'd lost contact with the other Tsviets when part of the complex had caved in, trapping her in a far flung wing with part of the army and a Restrictor.

"Weiss sent Shelke to free me after the collapse."

"Then you couldn't have freed yourself."

"I don't know what they did to those chains, but I was unable to absorb them or break them."

"I should look into that," murmured Argent absent-mindedly.

"Are you planning to chain me to a pillar, Argent?"

"Nothing so crude. But I think that chaining you to a bed until you heal would be a desirable state of affairs." He heard her step back. "That should hold the wounds shut until they heal." He heard her walk to the sink. "It's fortunate that you weren't healing properly under the W.R.O.'s care. You might have been permanently crippled."

Nero stood carefully, trying not to increase his heart rate. He really didn't want to increase the tempo of the throbbing. "Will you tell me now why you are so set on protecting Vincent?"

"I'm not trying to protect him," she said calmly, dodging the question. "I'm trying to protect _you._ Deepground still needs you."

"_Needs_ me? Don't be ridiculous." He turned to look at her. She was still washing her hands.

"I'm not being ridiculous," she said. "It's fact."

"I'm not a commander, Argent."

"I'm not saying that you are – though your leadership skills would probably be decent if you bothered to develop them."

Silence. "You want me to be Deepground's new figurehead." He felt a sick mixture of outrage and disgust, and underneath it…something more painful. Something that tasted like blood and brass.

"You don't know what it's been like, trying to hold an army together," she said coldly. "While I hold the rank of Tsviet, I'm not the result of experimentation. I don't hold the kind of power that the rest of you did." She turned and leaned against the cold metal, meeting his gaze squarely. "Deepground follows the strongest power," she said simply. "And I'm not far enough above them to hold their loyalty. They followed me because I was trying to get back to the complex and return to Weiss' rule. But now we are free, and Weiss is dead. The only truly powerful Tsviet left is you."

"I don't care for power games," he said softly, tone dangerous.

"Would you rather that the soldiers broke ranks and did what they willed?"

Nero laughed. "What _can_ they do? We haven't the forces to destroy the W.R.O., and I cannot see the common people welcoming our kind into the world after the massacres we created. We cannot do anything but stay within Midgar and hope to be left alone."

"They think that you could destroy the W.R.O."

"Then they are stupid. I have my limitations – I haven't the strength to destroy the World Regenesis Organization in one attack, and we don't have the forces to hold them back while I recover from a strike."

"You don't need to tell me this, Nero." Argent's eye was cold. "I know your limitations. I'm saying that they _think_ that you are capable of it."

Nero allowed himself a cold smile, letting his eyes close lazily. "Suppose I were to agree to becoming your figurehead. What do I get in return for shackling myself to such a thankless task?" The pause stretched. He could feel her disapproval. "I want to know why you won't allow me to go after Vincent Valentine."

"I already told you that we would discuss it when you healed properly." A tinge of something – what? Nervousness? Fear?

"Argent, even I am not foolish enough to take on a more powerful enemy while I am wounded." He opened his eyes. She was glaring at him.

"You've changed your tune in this past hour," she said, her own voice dropping towards the soft and deadly.

He shrugged – carefully. He still regretted the movement for the pain it sent shooting through his shoulders. "I still intend to avenge my brother's death. But I believe that you have a point. Weiss would not want me to throw my life away needlessly."

* * *

She should have been comforted by those words, but instead they made her even more uneasy. They guaranteed that he would do his best to rest and recuperate, but… They weren't going to stop him from attempting to end Vincent's life. And whatever he said about the ex-Turk's reluctance to kill, Argent knew that everyone had their limits. If Nero pushed too hard, at the wrong time…

Like now, for instance. Obviously father and son were at odds to each other, and she could not believe that Vincent had been happy to learn that his son was, as outsiders would see him, an immoral, psychotic killer. If Nero were to attack now, would Vincent kill him simply because he saw it as the easier way out?

_Don't judge him by our standards,_ she scolded herself. _He's an outsider. He doesn't think that way._

But Vincent had been a Turk…

There was no obvious answer, but the longer she gave Vincent to think about the information, the longer time she gave him to let him get used to the idea that Nero was his son _before_ said son went haring after him with a couple of guns and a dark ability…

_Please let this be the right choice._

"I'm glad to hear that you've realized that," she said tartly. "But nonetheless, I think it would be wiser to withhold my reasons until you are capable of actually fighting, instead of stumbling around trying not to damage your stitches." A flash of those red eyes; she was treading dangerous ground. Then all the angry glow abruptly vanished – and that was far worse for her.

Nero might be a Deepground child, but he had a strongly developed sense of reason and logic that came of trying to consciously figure out a society. Over time, and many disagreements with her, Nero had come to wield words almost as well as he could wield his guns – and she wasn't sure how long she could hold out under _that_ kind of assault.

The casual lean of the head and arrogant tilt to his lips told her that he knew that as well as she did. "Just what could these reasons be that you are so desperate to keep me in the metaphorical dark?" he asked.

She remained silent. What else could she do?

"Something that disturbs you."

More silence.

"Something that, most probably, would enrage me?"

Fist clenching; more silence.

"Possibly something about Vincent that I did not know before?"

Yet more silence.

"You know, Argent, while your face is unreadable, you really should learn to regulate your body language. Anyone observant is going to ask you if you want disinfectant for the cuts on your palms."

_Little smart-alec. But you underestimate me._

"Fine, then," she said. Nero's smirk widened. "I'll tell you of my reasons for not letting you go after Vincent." She allowed herself a grim smile. "Just as soon as you tell me _exactly_ what happened during the Omega incident."

The verbal blow – which Nero was taking as below the belt if the shock in his face was anything to go by – knocked the breath out of the dark Tsviet, and for several long moments there was complete silence. She waited for him to call her bluff.

Instead, as Nero regained his composure, he glared at her hatefully and left the room without so much as a word.

* * *

Deepground soldiers were no strangers to rebellion. All of them had lived through the biggest coup in its history – the overthrow of the fourteenth SOLDIER force, the Restrictors, by the Tsviets. All of them had seen the rise of Weiss, and would have gladly followed him to the death.

The cry of 'Hail Weiss' heard throughout the Omega incident had not been an idle call. The footsoldiers had all but worshipped the man, and his word was more than law – it was doctrine. He had been their leader, their god – and now he was dead, and they burned to punish those responsible.

The whispers circulated the complex, and every soldier had heard them – Weiss needed to be avenged. Many had thought that once Nero the Sable had returned that they would be lead in an assault against the W.R.O. But then the stories had come from the medical wing – that Nero was more than half-insane, no longer recognizing ally from enemy.

_This is our commander?_ many had asked. _This is the man who is supposed to be leading us?_

Murmurs of dissent began to appear, and every passing day of inaction brought more soldiers over to the side that wished to rid themselves of incompetent leaders. And as for Argent – she was hardly the threat that Nero presented, but she was just as bad in her actions. With the Sable incapacitated, she should have taken true command and organized them for a war. But she had done nothing, and now there were rumors that her hold on sanity was as tenuous as Nero's.

And some of the soldiers put their foot down.

_No_, they proclaimed to their fellows. _We will not be led by people like this. We will not allow the W.R.O. to go unpunished._

Deep below Midgar, a rebellion began to brew.

* * *

**Notes:** Apparently I lied about it taking two weeks to write the next chapter. Who am I kidding? I can no more leave this story alone than I can stop breathing.

DG-centric chapter – what'd you guys think? I have to say, though – I nearly despaired of both Nero and Argent several times. They simply will _not_ touch on subjects that are actually important. They have bloody minds of their own (in more ways than one…). Next chapter Nero should _finally_ find out that Vincent is his father. Should. I can't promise anything. Sometimes things just get away from me.

Anyway. Before I thank my reviewers as normal, I tell you all to go to the reviews and find the profile of **MedliR**. This is _very_ important. Medli has written a one-shot called **Questionable Ethics**, set in this universe after the end of this story (don't worry, she doesn't know the end any more than the rest of you do, so there's no spoilers or anything). It involves a philosophical, if hilarious, debate between Yuffie and Nero about the difference between ethics and morals and whether or not anyone in Deepground had either one. If you're too lazy to type out two reviews, I want you to give the review to her, because she deserves it.

I also strongly encourage you to check out **Someone Wake Me Up**, **Outside View** and **Manipulating the Terminator Line**.

Anyway, to my reviewers: **MedliR**, **Kiki-sama**, **Ravyne Rayne**, **robertmarilyn**, **KenYasha**, **Malselene** – much thanks, guys.

See you next time!


	14. Chapter 14

_Started: 7th June 2008_

_Finished: 20th June 2008_

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen**

Nero had been too heavily involved in the last rebellion not to recognize the feeling of dissent in the air. Argent, judging by her face, didn't feel it, but you could never judge Argent's awareness simply by her facial expression – and doing so would be certain death, in one way or another. So he kept most of his attention on her for now, trying hard to not to let her strike him, and kept awareness of the soldiers underneath.

"They're not happy," he said to her later, as she checked his stitches. It had been four days since the repair work on his shoulders, and the wounds were healing slowly. His patience with his body was wearing thin. And he still hadn't worked up the nerve to tell Argent about the mako reactor.

"No," she agreed. "They're not."

"Are you going to do anything about it?"

"What can I do?"

He considered that for a moment, her words echoing in his head: _Deepground follows the strongest power._ "Did I make I mistake in turning command over to you?" he asked bluntly.

"Only a few soldiers will follow me without question," she said. "A greater percentage will accept my orders because you remain. But there are a few that, I guess, would ignore me completely if they thought that they could get away with it."

He hissed through his teeth, an expression of frustration. "Wonderful."

Argent remained silent for several long moments. "You shouldn't push yourself so hard, next time," she said finally, and Nero took the cue to put his shirt back on. "They can't stand up to heavy exertion."

"If you don't want me to exert myself," he said acidly. "Then perhaps you should consider not trying so hard to thrash me in our sparring matches."

"I was not trying to thrash you," she said with dignity. "I was trying to determine the extent of your mobility without the bulk of the wings."

"And?"

"It's better than I expected, but far worse than you used to be."

"I shudder to consider what you expected, then, because it was hard enough to avoid collecting bruises from you as it was."

She patted his shoulder in a mockingly reassuring way. "You'll never be too old to stop collecting bruises from me."

"Wonderful," repeated Nero, with more sarcasm than before. He lifted one hand and brushed his spiky hair out of his eyes.

"Do you want me to cut that?" asked Argent with a raised eyebrow. "It's impractical. Your aim will be affected."

The way that his back stiffened reminded her, suddenly, of an offended child. "No, thank you."

She decided not to press him – on that matter, at least. "Then will you tell me what happened in the mako reactor?"

There was a long silence – very long. Nero made no more movement than a statue might. Finally, he tilted his head back and directed his gaze to the ceiling.

"I suppose that I can't put it off any further," he murmured, more to himself than her. "Don't interrupt me." That was definitely to her – a sharp order. She did not protest.

Nero began to speak.

* * *

The Deepground soldiers knew better than to discuss their plans in an overt, open manner. One never knew when someone might be listening, especially when Nero the Sable was present, and apparently recovered from his episode in the medical wing. Some of them had witnessed a sparring match with Argent the Silver, and deduced that while his mobility was hampered, he was still a formidable opponent.

It was a mystery as to why he had turned command over to Argent, when he was the more powerful of the two. In most cases, this only increased contempt for their so-called 'leaders'.

"The Sable appears to have recovered," said one soldier, neutrally, to another.

The soldier spoken to inclined their head in the heavy metal helm. It was impossible to read facial expressions. When so much depended on communication that could be overheard, and they were forced to keep their words and tone neutral, it was difficult to phrase a desired question.

"Some of the soldiers are restless," they finally said, equally neutral.

"I haven't heard any orders for a mobilization."

Silence.

"Do you think that the orders will come?" The sharp movement of the first soldier told the second that the question was a dangerous one, but they mentally rationalized it – it was a fair question.

"That is uncertain."

The second soldier heard the undercurrent of sarcasm. The orders would not come, at least in the opinion of their companion. Beneath the shielding metal, the second soldier's mouth twisted in a dissatisfied grimace.

"What are our orders?"

"We are currently assigned to guard duty."

"Why have they been kept alive?"

The first soldier whirled and swung the butt of their gun at the second, halting a fraction of an inch from connecting the blow. For several long moments, they remained in their positions. Then the first soldier lowered their gun.

"Have you forgotten the law of Deepground?" If someone had been listening carefully, they might have detected the strange undertone to the question.

"No," said the second soldier. The aforementioned listener would definitely have heard the resigned tone to the answer – but they might have missed the edge of wonder.

"You would do well not to," said the first.

They continued on their way.

* * *

Shelke had been assigned to observation duty many times – formally and informally. Her ability to bend light around herself in order to create the illusion of transparency, which was difficult to detect when she remained perfectly still, had been a valuable asset to both the Restrictors and to Weiss. She had played the double agent at times, observing Weiss' snatched, neutral conversations with other Tsviets (though never Nero), and then feeding Deepground's overlords useless, if accurate, information. She had then, in turn, spied on the Restrictors and passed what she learned onto Weiss. She had walked into enemy territory and followed the Keeper through gunfire and battle. But she was sure that no observation had been quite as nerve-wracking as this.

Yuffie, over the past four days, had developed a tic in her eye, and her hands often twitched as they clutched the mouse. Shelke was quite certain that this was an outside manifestation of a strong desire to smash the computer.

Shelke had been familiar with the phrase 'shoot the messenger' for some time, and she was convinced that the computer did not deserve to suffer for the information it was providing. So she kept a close eye on Yuffie, ready to prevent a fatal blow should the situation require it.

"What. Are. They. Doing!?"

Shelke did not reply. Those four words had become Yuffie Kisaragi's mantra, and she was tired of explaining the same thing over and over again – that Deepground did not have another Tsviet to push the army into action if Nero decided against it or was unable to provide such an order; and thus, that until Nero recovered, there would be no movement from Deepground at all. This was not what the Princess of Wutai wanted to hear, and so she continued to search for another answer.

It was only a matter of time, Shelke considered, before Yuffie would hare off to Midgar to check that their surveillance line had not been killed in the night and replaced by enemies who were feeding them misinformation while they prepared for a strike. It was a conclusion that Shelke herself would have reached eventually, but observation of the ninja had forced her to contemplate possibilities that normally would not have occurred to her for several more days.

"Still nothing?"

Reeve had walked in while she was musing. His face was grim.

"Nothing," she agreed. Yuffie seemed about to go into spasm, and forcing her to speak might push her over the edge.

"Is this usual?"

Shelke took a deep breath and fought to maintain a grip on her temper. "There is no surviving officer within Deepground that has the authority to take control while a Tsviet is present," she said, making an effort not to grit her teeth. "So until Nero recovers, or decides on a course of action, Deepground remains in stasis."

Reeve must have sensed her annoyance, because he hurriedly asked another question. "What kind of decision do you think he will make?"

"It is difficult to predict." _And I have further complicated the situation – or so I hope._ "Nero may choose to declare war on the W.R.O." _Or he may order that just to give the soldiers something to do. They must be restless to take action for Weiss' death._ "Or he may single out Vincent as his target." _Which is far more likely._

Reeve relaxed. "Well, Vincent seems to know how to handle him."

_Foolish man._ Shelke said nothing – there was no need at this point to raise the possibility that Vincent might be unwilling to kill his son. And if her actions caused the consequences that she hoped, there was the possibility that it might not need to come up at all.

* * *

Argent's head was in her hands by the time Nero had finished speaking.

She was not prone to emotional displays. It had been a very long time since she had truly shouted at someone (except to make herself heard), and even longer since she had shed tears. She couldn't recall ever feeling the kind of despair that seemed to make her head too heavy for her to support.

Nero's voice had died away into silence some time ago, and he was showing no signs of being the one who would continue the conversation. She couldn't even take her head out of her hands to examine his face. It was no wonder at all that he hadn't wanted to speak of what happened – but it was a wonder that his loyalty to his brother remained through what had happened.

And it was a further wonder that he had survived at all. A blow such as the one he had described – further enhanced by a vicious shock from the broken wings, and then a complete surrender to the darkness, which he had never been able to do before… Argent was incredibly conscious of the fact that the dark-haired man sitting on the bench in front of her should, by all rights, be resting in the Lifestream with his brother, where he clearly longed to be.

"How –" She winced as her voice cracked, cleared her throat, and began again. "How is it that you are still alive?" With an effort she lifted her head.

Nero began to shrug, arrested the movement before he tested the strength of the stitches, and instead settled for a soft, "I don't know." A pause. "But I intend to make the best of it." His voice strengthened. "I've fulfilled my end of our agreement, Argent. Now tell me why you will not allow me to go after Vincent."

Her head dropped again. How was she going to explain this? Or, perhaps more urgently, how was she going to keep him from destroying part of the complex and/or her when she managed to explain it?

Stopping Weiss had been difficult, according the Restrictors. Stopping _Nero_… That was far more dangerous, close to impossible. Argent wondered if Nero had known that the Restrictors had feared him more than his brother. Probably not.

Clearing her throat, she began. "While you were…unconscious…there was an attempt to hack the DG system."

"Shelke." Nero's voice contained the barest hint of a snarl, and Argent winced inwardly. She almost vowed to speak to Shelke about treading carefully around Nero before she remembered that the nineteen-year-old had defected and was now allied with their enemies.

"Yes," she agreed. "Shelke. She was running a validation check on some of our files. Two files in particular."

"Argent," said Nero with exaggerated patience. "_Get to the point._"

She fixed him with a level stare, but she was the one who had to drop her gaze. "The two files she seemed so anxious to check were the experimental records of Professor Hojo, and your medical file."

"The point, Argent." The impatience in Nero's tone was growing.

She refused to allow herself the luxury of giving in. She had to ease him into this. "We wondered why she was so interested in those two particular files. We searched for a connection – and we found it."

"Argent, I already know about the stagnant mako experiments conducted on Vincent." Definitely impatient now.

She fixed him with a level stare, and this time, she did not look away. "Nero, the stagnant mako treatment that Vincent underwent was administered by Dr. Crescent. Not Professor Hojo."

His eyes narrowed. He had caught the definition. "Then –"

Suddenly, her impatience matched his. "Nero, according to both your file and Professor Hojo's records, Vincent Valentine is your _father._"

* * *

The captured W.R.O. surveillance had long since passed the stage of fearful subservience.

"Let us out!" hollered one particularly vocal young man, pounding with great vigor on the metal door. The sound echoed alarmingly in the small room, and the rest of its occupants covered their ears and tried to think of a way to stop him – one that wouldn't require them to remove their hands. One of the more enterprising women, who had been a younger sister skilled in bringing older brothers to heel, got unsteadily to her feet, walked over and delivered a vicious and painful kick to his shins. "Yeow!" yelped the young man, stumbling back from the door and falling flat on his back as he tried to regain his balance without placing his weight on his injured leg. "What was that for!?" he demanded breathlessly.

"We're already in a situation," growled the woman, sitting primly back down on one of the thick cloth pads that had been provided for them to sleep on. "We don't need to lose our hearing as well. And if you start that up again –" she continued, giving him a meaningful look, "– the next kick will be to your balls." She smiled complacently at the shocked young man, who automatically brought his hands up to cover his crotch in case she decided to administer the kick earlier, and ignored the winces from the other males in the room.

This young woman was a constant wonder to her companions. Throughout the whole business of their capture – from waking up from forced unconsciousness to a strip-search, being thrown none-too-gently into a confined metal chamber and now more than a week of monotonous uncertainty, she had retained her defiant spirit. More than a few of the others, though they were secretly ashamed of it, had considered throwing themselves at the feet of the next DG soldier to appear and surrendering everything they knew in exchange for getting out of this horrible place.

The door opened.

The young man started to his feet, as did nearly everyone else. But instead of the usual anonymous soldiers, impossible to tell apart (though they had made several attempts – even making a game out of it. That hadn't lasted long. Their superior, when he had found out, had banned the game on the basis that they were trying to get too close to the enemy), in walked a tall man with long, spiky black hair and a woman with an eye-patch.

The women, those who were quite beyond the point of fear and secretly felt that even death was preferable to staying in this place, cast appreciative eyes at the man, uncaring of the consequences. The feeling of attraction did not last past the interrogative gaze of the cold red eyes. They dropped their eyes, shrank back, and tried to control the inexplicable fear that welled up inside them.

After a short silence that seemed to last forever, one soldier asked, "Well? Who the hell are you two?"

The man's gaze zeroed in on the speaker, tilting his head slightly so that the dark spiky fringe slid out of his eyes. "I am Nero the Sable," he said simply, and there was a collective gulp and/or shudder. They knew that name, and they knew some of the stories attached to it. Nero the Sable had supposedly died in the Omega incident. They devoutly wished that that was true.

"A-and her?" said the soldier, controlling his fear admirably.

"I am Argent the Silver," said the woman in a cool voice. "I am the commander of Deepground."

"What do you want with us?" asked the woman who had kicked the young man in the shins. Nero caught her eyes, once again tilting his head to free his vision of spiky black hair. The woman tried to match his stare, but after several long moments, she was forced to drop her gaze.

He seemed pleased, lips curling into a small smirk. "Her, I think," he said to Argent.

The woman with the eye-patch nodded. "Come with us," she said, turning around.

"Why should I?" demanded the woman, letting her hands curl into fists. Argent turned around again, looked at her, then at Nero. She nodded.

The room suddenly filled with a metallic sounding howl, one that echoed off the walls, drilled into the ears and through the mind. Something flickered at the edges of the soldier's vision, and more than a few cried out in the sheer terror that welled up inside them. The screams and the howling mingled, and –

– and just as suddenly, it was all gone. There was a ragged silence, broken only by the whimpering of the soldiers on their knees. There was the unmistakable sound of someone being sick.

"That was Oblivion," said the woman in a tone that might have been called conversational. "And a taste, at that. Should you prove uncooperative..." She trailed off suggestively. The woman got the point immediately, and got unsteadily to her feet, wincing as she walked over to the door. She'd managed to fall at just the right angle to make every bend and straightening of her knees painful. As she crossed the threshold, she glanced at the dark-haired man, and frowned slightly. He looked ill – pale and sweaty.

"Come along," said Argent sharply.

With due regard for the fate of her fellows, the woman was nonetheless glad to get out of that small, smelly little room, sick-looking enemies or no. She heard Nero come up behind them as she followed Argent. They'd been walking for about five minutes, and she was thoroughly lost as she was led through the metal labyrinth, before she felt confident enough that she was not going to be executed to say, "What do you want with me?"

There was a quaver in her voice which she couldn't quite squash. Argent cast a look over her shoulder, seeming to read her mind. "Fear not," she said coolly. "Nero has no intentions on your virtue, nor does any of the other soldiers, and we do not intend to do you harm. We require your assistance."

"My assistance?" Relieved of her more pressing fears, the young woman was skeptical.

"Indeed," said Argent. "We have a task for you. Complete it, and we will let your companions go."

"No strings attached?" asked the woman with growing suspicion. That sounded almost too good to be true.

"None. They'll be quite free to go."

A short pause. "And me?"

"We're letting you go momentarily."

"Just like that?"

"As I told you, we have a task for you to complete. We cannot, unfortunately, assign it to any member of Deepground."

The woman wracked her brains for what that task could be, and didn't like the answer that her mind presented. "I won't kill anyone for you!"

"Let me assure you," said Argent dryly, "if we wanted you to kill someone, we would have mentioned it by now. No, your task is not an assassination."

"I won't give you any information, either."

"If you don't stop jumping to conclusions..." began the man quite suddenly, in an annoyed, accented voice.

"Nero." That was all that Argent said, but the man fell silent. The woman could feel his eyes boring into her back, and shivered. "In the interests of preventing any more dark conclusions from being reached, all we want from you is to deliver a message."

"That's it?"

"A rather specific message, to be delivered to a specific person. And _only_ to them, do you understand?"

"What will happen if someone else hears it?"

"Then we execute your companions as punishment for not fulfilling your task."

A brief silence. "What's the message?"

Argent told her, as they reached a massive metal door. The woman blinked.

"That's it?"

"That's all," Argent assured her.

"Seems easy enough. But how will you know that I've delivered the message?"

"Because he will show up," said Argent simply.

The woman paled. "But – what if he doesn't –" Argent's implacable gray stare shut her up. "So not only do I have to deliver the message, I have to make sure he goes."

"In essence," said Argent simply. "Nero chose well." She placed one hand on the woman's shoulder in an unexpected gesture of solidarity. "Please understand, this is intended to twist his arm, not yours."

"I get it, I get it," muttered the woman. "Let me out. I'll get your message delivered."

"Good girl," said Argent approvingly, stripping off her glove and placing her palm flat on a panel beside the door. It beeped approvingly, and the massive metal portal shuddered open. "Off you go."

With a furtive glance backwards, the woman jogged out of the door. The last thing she saw before the metal shuddered closed again was Nero stepping back into the shadows and Argent walking away.

* * *

"Are you alright?" asked Argent with concern, falling into step beside her fellow Tsviet.

"Fine," muttered Nero, running a hand across his sweaty forehead. "It was just –"

"More of a strain than usual?"

"And had worse consequences."

"I had forgotten," said Argent ruefully. "I won't ask you to do that again."

"Don't fret about it." Nero glanced behind him. "Do you think that Vincent will come?"

"I believe we've given him enough time to think about it, and provided sufficient incentive for him to show up."

"Then, we wait?"

"We wait," confirmed Argent.

* * *

The woman was soaked with sweat and shivering with cold when she reached the outskirts of Midgar, and gasped with relief when she saw the surveillance picket line. She'd been worried about delivering her message within the time-frame set – but now all she had to do was make it over to the trucks, and she could relax, at least for an hour or so.

Forcing a trot out of her already abused legs – she'd gotten scraped and cut climbing out of the wreckage of the Shinra building, and reflected with a shudder that she would probably need a tetanus shot – she jogged along the flat, dusty wasteland towards the trucks.

"Halt!" yelled a male voice across the distance. She could see the dying light of the sun glinting off the barrel of a gun.

"I'm a friend!" she yelled back.

"Keep your hands where I can see 'em!" Clearly, the sentry was not convinced, so she raised her hands carefully above her head and watched as they jogged over.

"Holy hell," gasped the man. "_Jana?_"

"Yeah, me." She felt a momentary return of her old cheerfulness. "Do I look that bad?"

"They said that Deepground got you!"

That sobered her up again. "They did. But –"

"They let you go?"

She snorted. "Hardly. I've got to deliver a message to someone, otherwise they kill the rest of my unit. If I do what they say, they'll let 'em go." Seeing the man open his mouth, she said quickly, "Yeah, I know they're probably lying, but I have to try."

The sentry thought about this for a moment. "Fair enough. C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

Jana followed him with the greatest relief.

_Hang on, guys._

* * *

**_Notes:_** 4016! That's a new record, word-wise. Aren't you guys lucky? Sorry this one is late. I left it alone for a little too long and got out of the groove. But I'm back in it now, and you'd better not forget it!

I'm going away for two weeks soon, so there'll be one, maybe two more chapters, and then a gap of about a fortnight. I won't have access to a computer, so I plan to catch up on my reading. Do you have any idea how much reading time I've given up for this story? Quite a bit. Haha.

I'm disappointed in a lot of you. Not one of you went over to Questionable Ethics and reviewed like I asked you to. Seriously, guys, I am disappointed. It's not too late to remedy that, though!

But I still thank **Bubblefox**, **KenYasha**, **Moomba**, **robertmarilyn** and **Silver Tears 11** for their reviews. And of course, to the incomparable **MedliR** for her ever-present support and encouragement. Here's looking at you all.

See you next time!


	15. Chapter 15

_Started: 21st June 2008_

_Finished: 26th June 2008_

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen**

Jana had been right. The freely-bleeding scrapes that adorned her limbs had required a tetanus shot, but they had then been neatly healed up by a low-level healing materia. They hadn't been really serious injuries. Now she was sitting in a truck bound for headquarters, and was trying to dodge a sergeant's questions. He'd been getting steadily redder in the face since he started this impromptu little interrogation session, and every vague answer or outright silence was clearly forcing his blood pressure up a few degrees. She wondered whether she could be court-martialled if he died because he was getting bent out of shape by her keeping quiet.

She decided that she wouldn't be. Reeve Tuesti was a reasonable man.

As it turned out, she didn't have to worry. The sergeant already had a technique for releasing this kind of stress.

"Good God, girl!" he shouted, leaping to his feet. "Answer the damn questions, would you!?"

"I'm sorry, sir," she said as politely as she could. "I'm not at liberty to disclose the information you're asking for." Now, what was the name of the color of his face at the moment? Somewhere between tomato red and royal purple, she decided.

Jana, being the youngest child and only girl in a large family, was not easily frightened by bluster.

The sergeant flopped down. "Then tell me what you can," he said through gritted teeth.

Now that was more like it. "A week ago, my unit was stationed in Midgar for surveillance duty," she said formally. "We heard gunshots, and went to investigate. After sending in a scout, who was unable to obtain a good vantage point to see who was firing, we surrounded the building and ordered them to come out with their hands up. We then heard gunshots behind us."

The sergeant groaned, obviously seeing what had happened.

"Yes, sir. We panicked. Some of us fired on the building, and some of us fired towards the rear. There were returning shots, and a lot of confusion. Some of us went down. Then the DG forces swarmed us. I got knocked out, and woke up to a strip-search. Then they tossed us all in a small room together, and we were all there until today."

"And then?"

Jana hesitated, but thought back. Argent had said she couldn't disclose the contents of the message. She'd said nothing about telling anyone else about her and Nero. And maybe she'd even expected it? She must have known that she'd have to give a certain amount of information to Vincent to make him agree to the message.

Straightening, she said, "Today, about two hours ago, a man and a woman entered a room. They introduced themselves as Nero the Sable and Argent the Silver. Argent said that she was Deepground's commander."

"We've never heard of any Argent the Silver," said the sergeant suspiciously. "And Nero the Sable is dead."

"I'm just repeating what they said, sir," said Jana with a bite of impatience. "Anyway, I asked them what they wanted with us – why they'd kept us alive – and Nero stared at me for a bit. Then he said 'Her, I think' to Argent, and she ordered me to come with them."

"And you went?"

"Well, I asked them why I should, first. And Argent looked at Nero and nodded and then there was –" She faltered.

"There was?" pressed the sergeant.

"I'm not sure how to explain it, sir. It was like everything went black, and there was this – this howling. And we were all so afraid. Some people screamed. Then it stopped."

"I've heard about that," admitted the sergeant reluctantly. Then he swore. "That means that it really was Nero the Sable you were talking to. There are stories about soldiers who saw that darkness – same thing you just described."

"Argent said it was 'Oblivion'. And she said if I didn't come with her..."

"I get it. Go on."

"So I went with them, and I asked them what they wanted with me. And they said that they wanted me to deliver a message – to a specific person, and no one else was supposed to hear it."

After all, they'd never told her that she couldn't tell other people that she was supposed to deliver the message. She just had to make sure that the contents of the message was for this guy's ears and this guy's ears only. Easy enough.

"And if you do that, they'll let the rest of the unit go?"

"Yep."

A short silence followed. "Soldier, did it ever occur to you that they might be lying?" asked the sergeant.

Jana couldn't help herself. She rolled her eyes. "Sir, I am not stupid. Of course it occurred to me that they might be lying." She lifted her chin proudly. "But I have to try."

The sergeant met her gaze for a long moment. "That's fair enough," he said finally, and his complexion subsided from it's alarmingly puce hue to something that was not quite magenta. Jana thought it was equally as revolting as the darker shade. "So, are you forbidden to say who the message is for?"

"That would be stupid, sir," she said, with an inward roll of her eyes. "Because everyone will know as soon as I tell them that I have a message for that person."

"Then who's it for?" asked the sergeant, obviously deciding to ignore his soldier's derision. She'd been under a lot of stress lately, after all.

"Vincent Valentine, apparently."

* * *

Vincent, unaware that his life was about to be further disturbed, was occupied with getting rid of a Guard Hound infestation east of W.R.O. headquarters. And he'd thought that the Sahagin in Nibelheim were bad. If they (the Sahagin) bred like rabbits, then obviously the Guard Hounds either bred like cockroaches, or they had some kind of psychic sense that told them when their relatives were dead. If that was the case, then that also argued that they had some kind of thought process that told them that when their kind had been killed, then they had to make that area a living hell as repayment.

Vincent was welcoming the distraction. It had been six days since Nero's rescue, six days since he found out that said man was his son, and the waiting for something to happen was becoming distinctly hard on the nerves, even for someone like him. The monsters were also taking advantage of it, and there had been several incidents involving the room he'd been given, claws and a chainsaw. Luckily, no one had been stupid enough to race through the door. He suspected that this had something to do with Yuffie, whose room was two over from his. Even if she was a heavy sleeper, she was also well-attuned to noises that needed immediate attention, and a chainsaw was one of them. Possibly she had stood guard outside his door until the sawing noise had stopped, making sure that no concerned and well-meaning (or possibly angry and sleep-deprived) W.R.O. soldier would barge in and be reduced to a bloody spatter on the walls and floor.

His control was slowly disintegrating, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it. With increasing desperation, he had scoured Hojo's records and turned up nothing. Shelke had made an additional dive into the network two days ago, and confirmed that she had retrieved the entirety of the records, and had even made a careful search for hidden or deleted files. Nothing. Surely Hojo hadn't simply concocted these beasts and planted them in Vincent without writing his cackling, self-congratulatory notes? Or had he been too carried away?

It was beginning to seem that way.

As he shot another Guard Hound through the forehead and watched it fall with a squealing snarl, Vincent wondered what on the Planet he was going to do.

* * *

When the truck pulled up in front of the W.R.O. headquarters, Reeve automatically assumed that something had gone badly wrong. He hurried out there, his personal dignity be damned, ready to face the worst. Instead, he was greeted by a sergeant of questionable health (judging by his complexion) and a young woman in a man's uniform that was a size too big for her.

She caught him staring, and snapped to attention.

"Forgive me for my attire, sir!" she barked. "Deepground took my uniform. Perverts," she added, in a much less formal tone. There was a fierce gleam in her eye that boded ill for the next Deepground soldier to cross her.

"Ah – that's alright," said Reeve, quite at a loss for what to say to that. "So – you're part of that surveillance unit that went missing a week ago?"

She nodded, straightening into parade-ground stance. "I mean, yessir! My unit was captured by Deepground force during our patrol a week ago!"

"And you escaped?" He couldn't help sounding confused. Shelke had given the impression that Deepground was all but impossible to escape from.

She shook her head. "Nossir! They let me go."

"Then where's the rest of your unit?" asked Reeve, looking to the truck. If there had been any other soldier in there, they should have come out by now. Unless - "Are they injured? Or - " The woman was shaking his head.

"Nossir, they're still in Deepground. They're hostages."

"Hostages?" repeated Reeve, blankly. He must have sounded rather stupid, judging by the look in the girl's eye.

"I've got a message for Vincent Valentine," said the woman. "And I need to deliver it as soon as possible."

* * *

Jana was perched on a chair, uncomfortably aware of the pair of big, blank blue eyes fixed on her from the side of the room. Reeve was leaning against the desk in front of her, looking kindly. The Head of Intel had been sent off to find Vincent, who was currently clearing out a Guard Hound infestation out east. As far as Jana was concerned, more power to him. Guard Hounds were a pain in the neck. Literally, if you let them get too close.

"So," said Reeve. "You were with the surveillance team that went missing in Midgar a week ago?"

She recognized a prompt when she heard one. "Yessir. My unit had been assigned to patrol Midgar and check for any further survivors of the Omega incident. We didn't expect to find anyone, but - " She shrugged. "Those were our orders." Reeve cleared his throat. "We were captured by Deepground soldiers - "

"Where?" interrupted a cool voice, and Jana turned (with some relief) to look at the young girl sitting at the side of the room. There was a shrewd intelligence in those eyes that made her pause.

"Over on the north side," she said eventually.

"The north side? Not near the Shinra building?"

"We were just about as far from the Shinra building as we could get while still remaining in Midgar," replied Jana, feeling as though she was missing something. The girl frowned, fingers tapping against the arm of her chair. "Is that important?"

"The north side of the complex collapsed more than a year ago," was the reply. "There was no reason for DG troops to be stationed in that area."

"Does it really matter? They were probably looking for survivors themselves." Then her mind caught up with her. "Wait – how do you know that the north side of the DG complex collapsed a year ago?"

The girl blinked at her. "I was there."

Reeve cleared his throat. "Perhaps some introductions are in order. Jana - " He'd made a point of asking for her name as he escorted her to this room. " - this is Shelke Rui, formerly Shelke the Transparent of Deepground."

In her shock, Jana's mouth kicked in before her brain. "Are you kidding me? She's just a kid!"

"I am nineteen," came the cool reply. "The experiments conducted on me by the Researchers, Deepground's scientists, have arrested my body's development."

There was a long, disbelieving pause. The tension in the room rose steadily. Finally, Jana made an indistinct noise. "Anyway, we were captured by DG soldiers, and they tossed us in a room together, and for a week nothing happened. We were alternately bored out of our wits and ready to tear each other's throats out."

"Understandably," murmured Reeve. "Then what happened?"

"The door opened and two people walked in. That was about three hours ago, I think."

"Soldiers?"

"Kind of. The man said his name was Nero the Sable - " Reeve flinched; Shelke merely nodded slowly, as though she had expected this. "- and the woman said she was Argent the Silver." Shelke froze. Ignoring the reaction, Jana continued, "She said that she was Deepground's commander."

"Impossible," said Shelke flatly. "Argent the Silver is dead. You must have heard incorrectly."

"I didn't," said Jana, just as flatly. "That's who she said she was."

"Then she was lying."

"Look," said Jana, "I'm just repeating what she told me. What does it matter if they're really who they say they are?"

Sub-zero didn't even come close to describing the temperature of Shelke's gaze. "It matters," she said tightly, "Because Nero outranks all but Weiss in Deepground."

"I thought - "

"Yes, Weiss is dead. Therefore, Nero should be the commander of Deepground."

Jana thought about that. She was beginning to see why Shelke was concerned. "If this really is the Argent you knew – what do you think about her being in command?" she asked.

"Then we would be in even more trouble," said Shelke dryly. "Argent was the most tactically brilliant of the Tsviets, and probably the only person in the whole of Deepground that could be called perfectly sane."

"What did she look like?" asked Reeve.

Shelke raised an eyebrow. Reeve just looked blandly back at her. "She was tall," said the ex-Tsviet eventually. "Long dark hair – we were never able to sufficiently explain how she could fight so well with such long hair. The unusual thing about Argent was that she was the only Tsviet that was the product of an unsuccessful experiment." She paused for a moment, head cocked – trying to remember the details, Jana guessed. "I cannot recall how old she was, but the Researchers decided to use her as the test subject for an experiment designed to enhance vision."

"They blinded her?" guessed Reeve, looking slightly ill.

"In her right eye. Despite that, she was probably the best with sword, barring Weiss."

"Were you close?"

Shelke cocked her head. "I suppose you could have called us close. She was my combat teacher for many years."

"Did she wear a funky crown thing?" That question came, suddenly, from Jana.

"'Funky crown thing'?" repeated Shelke, deadpan.

"Yeah. I don't know what it was, but the woman was wearing a kind of crown-headdress thing." Raising her hand, she traced a pronged shape in the air in front of her forehead, trying to illustrate. "It was weird."

Shelke's eyes narrowed. She did not reply.

"How did Argent die?" asked Reeve gently.

"During the coup," said Shelke. Her eyes were narrowed thoughtfully. "When we fought the Restrictors, we were scattered throughout the complex. The wing that Argent was in collapsed, and her signal was cut off." She tapped her fingers against the desktop. "I suppose it would not be impossible for Argent to have survived. Stranger things have happened."

"And Nero would turn command over to her?"

Shelke nodded. "He respected her." A faint smile touched her lips. "Well, he had to. She was his combat teacher, as well. She would have beaten him to within an inch of his life if he didn't respect her."

As Reeve and Jana digested this change to the situation, the door opened and Yuffie skipped in, Vincent following at a more sedate pace.

"Success!" she proclaimed. "I have located and brought the great Vincent Valentine back here, as requested." She mockingly saluted Reeve.

"Well done, Yuffie," he said, seriously. The only sign of his amusement was the twinkle in his eyes.

"She might have brought me back, but I don't understand why I'm here," said Vincent dryly. All traces of amusement vanished; the tension in the room sky-rocketed.

"This young lady has a message for you," said Shelke eventually, indicating Jana. "Courtesy of Nero."

Long silence. "I see," said Vincent neutrally. "What's the message?"

Jana fidgeted. "You guys have to leave," she blurted. "I'm not supposed to let anyone else hear the message."

"Oh, come on," said Yuffie, waving a dismissive hand. "They won't be able tell - "

"I would not be so certain of that," cut in Shelke. "Nero has been known to use the darkness to eavesdrop." She kept her eyes on Jana. "What are the consequences for anyone else hearing the message?"

"They kill the rest of my unit," said Jana, abruptly miserable. The strain of the past week was catching up to her.

Shelke nodded, as though she had expected that. "I believe that, for now, it would be best to follow the given instructions," she said to Reeve.

He nodded. "Of course." He rose, and Shelke slipped off her desk. "Come on, Yuffie," he said, heading for the door. Reluctantly, the ninja followed him, and Shelke brought up the rear. The door closed behind them, grumbling a little.

"Well, this sucks," muttered Yuffie.

"It is a little frustrating," agreed Reeve. "But we want to avoid any more unnecessary deaths."

"I could spy on them," offered the ninja. "They could say they didn't know I was there, and it'd be true!"

"Do you really think that would work on two Tsviets?" asked Reeve with a raised eyebrow.

Yuffie's shoulder slumped. "Damn. Wait, _two_ Tsviets?"

"I think that Shelke could ex - " Reeve, looking around for the nineteen-year-old, trailed off. She was nowhere in sight.

"Well," said Yuffie as they both took in her absence. "I guess there's hope for her after all."

* * *

Shelke, hoping that her Transparent form wouldn't cut out before this was resolved, crouched under the desk and tried to keep as still as possible. It wasn't true invisibility, the Transparent form – simply a manipulation of light that kept her from being detected. However, it was noticeable if she moved. Better not to risk being seen – hence, crouching under the table.

"So, they let you go in exchange for you delivering the message?" asked Vincent. His tone was probably attempting to be soothing.

"Yeah. If I do this, they'll let the rest of my unit go. And yes, I _know_ they're probably lying."

Under the desk, Shelke wondered whether Vincent had opened his mouth, or whether Jana was just defensive after repeating her story four times.

"And the message is?"

"Nero wants to talk to you. You're supposed to meet him in wasteland three days from now – you know, the place with all the rocky columns." There was a pause. "Yeah, I know. It sounds like a bad movie."

"I have to agree," said Vincent dryly.

"Will you go?"

"I have to think about it."

Another pause. "You have to go. They won't let my unit go unless you show up."

Vincent sighed. "Why am I not surprised?" he murmured. "Fine. I'll go."

Shelke bit her lip.

_What have I done?_

* * *

**Notes:** This is, in all likelihood, the last chapter before I go on holidays. I'm looking to writing the next one though – because I don't care how long I have to make the darn thing, the next chapter _will_ have Nero and Vincent meeting up again! I'm itching to write that scene. And I've got the ambient music all prepared, too.

Much thanks to **Shelke414** (for all five of them!), **Bubblefox**, **hitsuni**, **Shannon (One Winged Tenshi)**, **Fork In The Road**, **KenYasha**, **Silver Tears 11**, **Kiki-sama**, **MedliR** and **Cloud-of-Dreams** for their reviews! You guys rock.

See you next time!


	16. Chapter 16

_Started: 26th June 2008_

_Finished: 27th June 2008_

**_Pre-chapter note:_** If you want something to set the mood for this chapter, I'd advise 'Never Too Late' by Three Days Grace. Coincidentally (not), that's the song that crystallized the idea for this story and gave me my title.

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen**

"You know, you're not going to be much use in an attack," said a voice dryly from behind Jana. "Unless Deepground has some kind of aversion to people chewing their nails."

She glared at the young man who came up beside her. "Go to hell," she snapped, returning her gaze to the ruined city before her.

"Do you think they'll honor their word?" asked the man, unperturbed.

"How am _I_ supposed to know?" she snapped.

"It was a civil question," he said rebukingly.

She tossed up her hands. "Sometimes I think that they might, and sometimes I think they won't. I don't know."

"When will they release them?"

She hesitated. "If they do what they said they would... Sometime today."

"You've already been up since dawn. You can't stay out here all day."

"Watch me!"

The man rolled his eyes and handed her a flask. "At least have some water. You're of no use if you're dehydrated."

Jana blinked, thrown a little. "...Thanks," she said grudgingly, unscrewing the cap and taking a long swallow.

The man said nothing, his eyes on the ruined city.

* * *

"Don't push yourself," warned Argent from the doorway.

"What happens will depend entirely on what Vincent says," said Nero coldly, running his fingers carefully over his new weapons. It had taken all of the three days they'd left as thinking time for him to persuade Argent to let him have the replacements for the weapons he'd lost. Even knowing that she was concerned for his safety when he was still injured hadn't alleviated the steadily growing irritation with her. Even knowing that it was partially caused by his own impatience hadn't helped in the slightest.

It had taken hours for the knowledge to really sink in, and even now it sometimes seemed like a strange dream. _Vincent Valentine is my father._

The words might not have meant anything to him prior to Omega – and not just because he wouldn't have known the face or the skills to connect with the name. But a blood connection – even one as flimsy and recently-acknowledged as this – was not to be taken lightly. If Vincent acknowledged the bond, that would change the situation. If he refused it... Well, then, he could proceed as he had originally planned.

He did not like the fact that he couldn't decide which set of events he wanted to set in motion. But that could not be helped.

"How are the soldiers?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation away from him and what was about to happen.

"There has been no movement, no murmuring."

"It can't last." _This is just the calm before the storm._

"I know." Of course. Foolish to think that Argent wouldn't recognize the state for what it was. She had been instrumental in bringing the foot soldiers over to the side of the Tsviets when they had staged their coup.

"When I return, one way or another, we will have to deal with it." How they would deal with it was anyone's guess. They couldn't afford to lose any more of their forces. But at the same time, they couldn't afford doubt or disloyalty in the ranks.

"Of course." Argent would think of something. He hoped that she would, anyway. "Are you ready?"

"As ready as I will ever be." It was the first time he had ever expressed anything other than total combat-readiness when walking onto a potential battlefield.

"Be careful," she said calmly. "Do not speak hastily."

"When do I ever speak hastily?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"You have been known not to think before you speak." Her gaze was deadly serious. "You will have only one chance to talk to him. Do not waste it."

"I won't," he said. Taking a deep breath and bracing himself for the memories that would assault him as soon as he drew on his power, he opened himself to the darkness and stepped through.

Argent watched the darkness dissipate and sighed. But there was nothing she could do – only hope that Nero would not allow his temper to get the better of him.

* * *

"You're going now?" Yuffie was hovering at the doorway, looking worried.

"I'm going now," he agreed, checking Cerberus one final time and hoping that Nero wouldn't take the presence of the weapon as an insult. He didn't think that the Tsviet would walk into their meeting unarmed, but... One never knew.

"I wish you'd tell us where you're going," said the ninja. "At least so we could give you some back-up."

"I think the whole point of the condition they gave to Jana was to _prevent_ me from having any back-up," he said dryly.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean we have to play by their rules," she insisted.

"Better to follow their rules now and prevent any more unnecessary deaths than to test their tolerance and give them a reason to fight us. I'm sure that even Deepground has their own code of honor."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Have you been talking to Reeve?"

"We've touched on the subject." Discussed it extensively while dancing around the point, actually. He was fairly sure that the younger man had picked up the gist of the message, if not the details. In fact, he was fairly sure that Yuffie knew what was going to happen, too. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

"If I have to come get you and drag you out of danger again, I'll be _very_ unhappy with you," Yuffie warned. "You're _heavy_."

He chuckled. That was as much verbal worry as he was going to get out of the ninja, but it was enough. "Thanks, Yuffie."

She gave him a ghost of a smile. "Well, if you've got a place to be, you'd better get going. It's nearly midday."

He'd wondered why Nero had set the time as midday. Surely that would weaken someone so identified with darkness? Or was it designed that way – a peculiar show of trust? He wished he knew more about the way that Nero's mind worked. All that he could deduce from his memories was that the man was almost unnaturally devoted to his brother – though, from what Shelke had told him about Deepground and the Restrictors in the last three days, it wasn't really unusual that his mind had formed that way.

Vincent was halfway down the corridor before Yuffie called after him. "You haven't seen Shelke, have you?"

"I haven't seen her since breakfast," he called back. "Do you need her?"

"Not really. But she's been acting pretty strange over the past three days."

"She's got a lot on her mind," he said, halting and half-turning. "Between Nero, Argent and the rest of Deepground, she has plenty to consider."

Yuffie shrugged. "Yeah, I guess." She lifted a hand in farewell. "See ya, Vince! Keep yourself in one piece!"

Vincent allowed a smile to touch his lips. "I'll do that. Goodbye, Yuffie."

Allowing his cloak to swish dramatically, he set off down the corridor.

* * *

Nero leaned against the warm, rough stone, trying to steady his breathing and banish the memories. Unconsciously, he brushed a hand across his stomach, to reassure himself that there was no wound. After several moments, he had sufficiently recovered to stand on his own two feet, and be grateful that the time of meeting was midday – the sunlight did make it a little harder to draw on the darkness, but it also helped to banish the side-effects. Letting go of the images within Deepground had sometimes been a process of hours – the dark, cold place, saturated with so much cruelty and pain, was a breeding ground for bad memories.

He shifted into another sunny patch, letting his cold body absorb the warmth and listening hard for the sound of approaching footsteps. Vincent should be here soon, and it was likely that he would hear him before he saw him.

Several long minutes passed, and unconsciously, Nero relaxed. There was no sound but that of the light wind through the rocky columns. He was completely alone to do as he pleased – a luxury that he'd never known while the Restrictors had been in control. He'd been left alone plenty of times – but that was the result of everyone being far too frightened to go near a child whose control of his deadly power was minimal at best, and that meant being locked away in reinforced rooms, most of the time.

Nero's lips twisted, and he gave the memories a mental shove, locking them away. That was long past, though he couldn't say that his situation had improved over-much.

There was the sound of footsteps, and Nero frowned. Vincent had worn metal-sheathed boots, the last time that they had met – on hard packed sand and stone, there should have been a faint ringing when the metal hit the ground. These footsteps were soft, the sound of leather scuffing against rock. Had the messenger disobeyed the instructions given?

Quietly, Nero eased around the stone columns one by one, keeping his footsteps completely silent and sweeping the area with the gun he hadn't even been conscious of calling in.

Nothing. No traces of footprints, no sign of anything living. He strained his ears, but he could no longer hear the sounds that had set him on edge. Had he imagined them, his mind already strained by Oblivion and thin patience?

He whirled as he saw a faint flicker of light glancing off something out of the corner of his eye, aiming with automatic precision.

Nothing.

Nero gave himself a mental shake. _Control yourself,_ he said inwardly, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. _Paranoia is not going to help this meeting in the slightest. _

He returned to his previous place, leaning against a sunny pillar and trying to relax again. However, he holstered his gun within easy reach, instincts still on edge. There was no point in taking chances.

* * *

Vincent was hot by the time he was approaching the rocky towers.

It was a bright day – far too bright for his tastes – and warm enough to make traveling in black clothes with a heavy red cloak distinctly uncomfortable. And that was to say nothing of the boots and claw. The next time that he had to come to a meeting in a desert, Vincent vowed, he would remove all things metal from his person, barring his weapon. Metal was simply too good a heat conductor.

He couldn't hear anything within the columns as he approached, but that didn't mean a thing. He hadn't heard Nero until he announced himself, back in Deepground. No doubt the dark Tsviet was accustomed to moving silently. Well, two could play at that game.

It took a lot of effort to keep footsteps made by metal boots absolutely silent on rock and sand, but somehow he managed it. He carefully circled the pillars one by one, searching for any sign of Nero's presence. Had he arrived yet? Maybe -

He stopped short. Nero was leaning against one of the columns, directly in a patch of bright sunlight, eyes closed. In fact, it took him a moment to reconcile the sense of gut-deep recognition with the man in front of him – Nero had removed the mask and restraints that had bound him at their last meeting, the wings were gone. He remember that Reeve had mentioned that they had been trapped under some rubble in Midgar when the W.R.O. had recovered him. Gone, too, was the skin-tight black bodysuit – Nero now wore a standard DG soldier uniform, without the helmet.

He was sure how long he stood there, silently, just looking.

_He does look like me._

Yes, without the mask, there was definitely a strong resemblance between them. His doubts crumbled.

"Nero," he said, softly.

The Tsviet's head snapped up, the red eyes instantly alert, and Vincent was conscious that there was a gun pointed at his heart for a split second. Then Nero's eyes flickered in recognition, and he put the gun away.

"Vincent," he said, pushing himself away from the rock. "I'm glad you could make it."

* * *

Argent sensed their intent the moment they stepped into the room, but she continued her practice routine anyway. Out of her peripheral vision, she saw them step through the doors one by one, and spread out along the wall to prevent her escape. As though she would need to escape.

The solders already present halted their sparring matches one by one, movements faltering as they turned to examine those coming in. Argent made no attempt to return them to their routines.

"Argent the Silver," said one of the soldiers who had just entered. Then, and only then, did she halt her movements and turn to face them.

"Such disrespect," she said softly. "Such a mode of address could have you punished for insubordination, soldier." She did not acknowledge the presence of the forces arrayed behind him, though, carefully, she weighed the odds.

Not the best, she acknowledged. They had guns; she had only her sword. However, she carried a Shield materia, and that would be sufficient to protect her for some time. And they were not as fast as she with their weapons.

"We no longer recognize your authority," proclaimed the soldier. The ones behind him shifted – most lifted their chins defiantly, waiting for her to denounce them. They reminded her of nothing so much as children, trying to sidestep consequences for their actions.

"Is that so?" she asked, still in that soft voice. Some of the soldiers around her were drifting towards the forces by the wall; others were flanking her in a silent show of support. Good, though not ideal. They would help to even the odds, but without shields or conventional weapons, they would probably die swiftly. However, their deaths might buy her the time to defeat the others.

"Yes," said the soldier. "That is so."

"Then you leave me no choice," she said evenly. Lifting her sword, she charged.

* * *

"You didn't leave me much of a choice," said Vincent, keeping his tone even.

Nero shrugged, the movement careful and controlled. "We could not be sure that you would come unless we gave you incentive."

"We?" asked Vincent.

"Myself and Argent." Nero eyed Vincent from beneath his fringe. "How much do you know of her?"

"A little. Jana – the girl you sent as a messenger – described her, and Shelke filled in some of the details. Why did you turn command of Deepground over to her?"

"Because she is a far better leader than me." Nero cocked his head. "And because that decision left me free to pursue you and repay you for the death of my brother."

For a long moment, there was silent. "You haven't taken advantage of it," said Vincent. "If you had really meant to kill me in this meeting, I would be dead by now."

"Astute of you," noted the dark Tsviet. "No, at this point in time I have no intention of ending your life. Blood ties, however recently acknowledged, are not to be lightly brushed aside." His eyes narrowed speculatively. "You were not aware of this until a week ago, were you?"

"Nine days," corrected Vincent automatically.

"You counted. How interesting."

"It's not every day that I discover I have a son."

There was a long silence; the words hung in the air between them. Nero's face was unreadable. Vincent wondered what his own face revealed.

"Then you believe this." It was almost a question, but not quite.

"And you don't?"

"Say rather that I'm skeptical. It seems too much of a coincidence that the man who supposedly fathered me is the one responsible for taking away the one I held most dear."

"If it was anyone but Hojo behind the experiments that created you," said Vincent, carefully. "I would not have believed it." Nero's face was carefully blank. "But since it is, I'm more surprised that he didn't throw it in my face when I faced him in the mako reactor."

Nero considered this. "It was unlike him not to gloat, wasn't it?"

"How much did you have to deal with him?"

"He oversaw most of the preparations, and gave me the information I needed to construct my plans. I never liked him," said the dark Tsviet with sudden venom.

Vincent couldn't help the slight chuckle that escaped his lips. "A wise decision."

Eyes met and held, and a shadow of a smile touched Nero's lips in response to Vincent's amusement.

_Well,_ thought the ex-Turk with relief. _This is going better than I expected._

Then the shrill, mechanical ringing of a mobile phone echoed off the stone pillars, making them both flinch.

"Your phone is ringing," said Nero in a voice that was too soft and too calm. The red eyes, which had been amused a moment ago, were now cold and unfriendly.

"It's not mine," protested Vincent before he thought about what he was saying. "And I didn't tell anyone else about this."

"No?" Nero's voice was almost a croon. It was unsettling, disturbing. Vincent noted with apprehension that his son had called in both of his guns. "Then someone must have overheard the delivery of the message. And I believe that I can guess who it was." Pivoting on one heel, Nero fired several shots off to his left, Vincent's right. A shield shimmered into existence, and Vincent threw himself to the ground in order to avoid the ricochets.

"Hello, Shelke," said Nero in a voice that would have been pleasant – except that it was cold enough to chill the air around them. "How nice of you to join us."

* * *

Argent had not broken a sweat by the time the skirmish was over, but she was still forced to mop her face. She had forgotten how messy throat cuts could be.

"Ma'am?" asked a timid voice from behind her. The honorific had no effect on Argent – she whirled and pressed the sword to the throat of the man standing behind her. He said nothing about it. "Fights have broken out across the complex. They say they won't accept the leadership of the weak."

Argent slowly lowered the point of her sword. "Is there any way to tell how many of the soldiers are involved in this uprising?"

"Not really," said the soldier. "Our best estimate at the moment is more than half."

Argent struggled to keep herself from showing her dismay. "Have the fights broken out on the surface?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Wonderful. It would not be long before the W.R.O. knew of this, then. And who knew what kind of action they would take? "If you find someone who you know to be loyal, send them along to the cells. We will make our stand there."

The soldier saluted, turned around, and sprinted off down the corridor. Argent, freed from the noise of immediate battle, could hear gunshots and shouting. Taking a different route to the soldier she had just sent, she set off for the cells and hoped that Nero would return soon.

* * *

Jana was sitting in one of the trucks when the shouting started. Leaping up, she sprinted outside. Most of the soldiers stationed in the surveillance line were clustered outside, though there didn't seem to be any danger.

"What the hell's going on?" she asked nobody in particular as she reached the outskirts of the crowd.

"We just sent a scout into the city, to check up on what Deepground was doing," said another young woman, sounding halfway between excited and hysterical. "And they're saying that Deepground are fighting each other!"

"Fighting _each other?_" repeated Jana, stunned. "Has someone got on the line to headquarters?"

"I don't know!"

The shouting and speculation was reaching fever pitch. Almost everyone was on the verge of hysteria. Jana sprinted for the last place she'd seen the sergeant.

"Soldier, what the hell are you running for?" he demanded.

"Scout's report, sir," she said, trying not to gasp. "They're saying that Deepground troops are fighting each other."

"Fighting _each other?_" demanded the sergeant. "Are you sure?"

"That's what I heard, sir."

He chewed his lip for a moment. "Go tell that bunch of bleaters to get back to their post," he snapped, finally. "I'm going to call headquarters."

* * *

Reeve, who was heading downstairs to talk to Yuffie, sprinted the final part of the way as he heard her screech something unintelligible. He burst into the room to find Yuffie on her PHS, angrily demanding answers from the person on the other end of the line.

"You're _sure?_" she kept repeating. "Are you _sure?_" Finally, she said. "OK. Tell them not to do anything just yet. I'll talk to the commissioner and get back to you." She hung up.

"What's happening?"

"Deepground are having a civil war, apparently," said Yuffie, sounding equal parts angry, dismayed and confused.

"A _civil war?_" repeated Reeve blankly.

"Yes, Reeve, a civil war," said Yuffie testily, dialing another number. "That's normally what you call it when two groups of people who are supposed to be part of the same thing decide to fight, isn't it?"

"Who are you calling?"

"Shelke. She'll probably know something about this – or she'll be able to guess." Clapping the phone to her ear, Yuffie waited. Reeve, unable to do anything else, began to pace.

* * *

The phone continued to ring, but Vincent could barely hear it any more – there was too much to focus on. Shelke was standing about five meters away from him and Nero, looking defiant. She hadn't dropped her shield, and Vincent couldn't blame her – Nero hadn't lowered his guns. Both were trained on the ex-Tsviet.

"Haven't you learned by now that it's rude to listen to other people's conversations?" asked Nero silkily.

Shelke said nothing, but she met his gaze unflinchingly.

"But of course, it would also be rude not to answer when you are called." Nero smiled. "Answer the phone."

"Why should I?" asked Shelke, voice cold.

Nero clicked off a few more shots – Vincent dodged behind another stone column. Nero appeared to have forgotten his existence in light of Shelke's appearance.

"To come here unobserved, and to remain hidden, you would have had to use the Transparent form," said the dark Tsviet. "A power that drains your magic very quickly. And now you are shielding. How long can your stamina last, Shelke?" More shots. Vincent, easing around the column in order to observe the scene, noted with an apprehensive drop of his stomach that Shelke's protective barrier flickered. "Answer the phone," repeated Nero, his tone gaining an edge.

Glaring hatefully at him, Shelke withdrew the phone from her pocket and clicked it on. The ring, cut off in the middle, echoed in the canyon.

"Shelke speaking," said the ex-Tsviet, and immediately jerked the phone away from her ear to hold it at arms-length. Even from where he was standing, Vincent could faintly hear someone screeching at Shelke, though he couldn't make out the words. Nero's eyebrows had nearly disappeared into his hairline, but his aim didn't falter for a moment. Carefully placing to the device to her ear again, wincing at the din assaulting her hearing, Shelke said, coldly, "Yuffie Kisaragi, if you do not lower your voice and speak understandably, I will hang up on you." The expression of pain faded. "That's better. Now, please repeat what you were saying."

For several long moments, Nero and Vincent watched Shelke, her expression going from blank to surprised to thoughtful. "I see," she said, eventually. "I'm afraid I will have to think about this. I don't have any answers for you at present." A pause. "Yes, I'm sure." She brought the phone away from her ear and clicked it off, placing it back in her pocket.

"Yuffie Kisaragi," repeated Nero, slowly. "I remember her. She was that over-excitable ninja who entered the mako reactor with Valentine." Shelke remained silent and still, unmoved by the two guns trained on her. "What did she say to you?"

"Deepground revolts," said Shelke, her tone vaguely smug. "Reports have come from the Midgar surveillance line that fights have broken out on the surface between Deepground forces."

Nero's eyes narrowed dangerously. For a long moment, there was complete silence.

"Then my presence is required in Midgar," said Nero evenly, holstering both guns in one practiced movement. "I'm afraid that our discussion will have to be postponed until a later date, Valentine." Vincent noted the renewed use of his surname. "And as for you, Shelke..."

"Yes?" said the ex-Tsviet in what must have been the most insolent tone she could manage.

"I have underestimated you twice," said Nero, sounding as though the admission left a bitter taste in his mouth. "I won't make that mistake a third time."

On that final note, he disappeared into the darkness, leaving Vincent and Shelke alone.

* * *

**Notes:** Well. Well, well, well. Aren't you guys lucky? And not just because this was posted the next day. This is also the longest chapter to date, beating the last record by 141 words. And I honored my promise! What did we all think of Nero and Vincent's meeting? And what will happen now that Deepground has revolted?

Thanks to **Fork In The Road**, **Aemeath,** **Kiki-sama**, **Silver Tears 11** and **Rayvne Rayne** for their prompt reviews!

I seriously doubt you'll get another chapter before I leave. Besides... even I'm not quite sure how things are going to progress from here. I've got an ending, but getting there is going to be a trick and a half. Feel free to suggest something, guys.

See you next time!


	17. Chapter 17

_Started: 7__th__ July 2008_

_Finished: 14th August 2008_

* * *

**Chapter Seventeen**

The cold preceded Nero to the cells, and the soldiers clustering around Argent tried not to be obvious about the fact that they were shivering.

Argent, however, had more pressing concerns.

"He shot you," she said, far too quietly for the comfort of anyone who knew her. She walked up to Nero and dragging away the hand that clutched his right shoulder. It slick with dark blood.

"No," Nero said, flinging another soldier to the ground. He had been dragging the man by the back of the neck, and there was a stark white hand print on their skin. "_He _shot me." The one in question tried to curl into a ball. Nero stepped forward and planted a foot on the man's back, pressing him flat to the floor. The soldier's whimpering was still clearly audible.

"How long did you leave him in there?" asked Argent.

Nero cocked his head, considering. It looked very strange with one arm crossed across his chest. "Perhaps a minute."

"Then it will be hours before we can get sense out of him," observed Argent. She turned to the soldiers behind her. "Restrain him."

Two of the braver troopers hurried forward to grip the miscreant soldier by the upper arms. Nero removed his foot after a period of deliberate consideration, and the whimpering soldier was hauled down the corridor.

Argent, ignoring Nero's warning glance, dragged his hand away from his shoulder. There was a ragged hole in the uniform, continuing through to Nero's flesh. Dark blood welled from the wound.

"The bullet?" she asked in an undertone, trying to see the glint of anything metallic that might have remained.

"Taken care of," Nero said, hie icy tone thawing a little as he resigned himself to being treated.

"Sit," murmured Argent absently, pressing down on his shoulder. "I need to bandage this before you can go break heads." Reluctantly, Nero sank down. A few brave soldiers raised their guns and placed themselves between the Tsviets and the end of the corridor. Another one, especially bold, brought a medpack forward, which Argent accepted without a word.

"No materia," noted Nero, very quietly.

"Good point," she agreed. "Soldiers!" she called, raising her voice. "Be sure to check any bodies we pass for materia!"

"Ma'am!" barked the soldiers, saluting.

"At least these ones still listen to you," murmured Nero.

Argent said nothing, carefully probing Nero's injury for any remaining fragments of metal. "You're lucky," she said eventually. "The bullet missed the bone." She handed him a thick wad of gauze, which he obediently pressed into place. With expert skill, Argent began to wind the bandage around his shoulder. "It would probably be wise not to use this arm if you can avoid it."

"I might be unable to avoid it," observed Nero cocking his head and turning his gaze to the end of the corridor. "There's someone approaching."

"Be ready to take aim, soldiers," commanded Argent. She had never been able to explain how Nero's hearing remained so acute when he was constantly surrounded by the howl of the darkness and gunshots, but she had never had cause to doubt it.

She fastened the end of the bandage and stood up. "Thoughts, Nero?" she asked as he rose.

Nero pursed his lips. "How many of our forces have rebelled?"

"At least half, or so I'm told. Did you hear anything on the way down here?"

"I met a few of the miscreants. Unfortunately, I didn't have the time to interrogate them." Argent observed the faint sheen of sweat on Nero's forehead and let the evasion slide. They didn't have the time to figure out why Oblivion was giving Nero so much trouble.

"Then I suppose we wait until our captive can tell us something," mused the silver Tsviet, just as footsteps came into normal audio range. The soldiers shuffled forward and arranged themselves into neat rows. Argent navigated the ranks so that she could stand in the front, while Nero drew both guns, ignoring the pain in his right shoulder.

"Stand and declare yourself!" commanded Argent, voice echoing in the confined space. Nero winced slightly.

The reply came in the form of gunshots.

* * *

"You have explaining to do," said Vincent sternly. Shelke, sitting on the desk, fresh from a mako bath, didn't look even slightly contrite. "How did you overhear the message?" Yuffie was sitting on the desk chair. Reeve was hovering beside her.

"I hid under the table," replied the ex-Tsviet calmly.

"You risked the lives of the surveillance unit being held captive," said Reeve.

For a moment, the disappointment in his eyes, and the disapproval in Vincent's, made the resolve in Shelke's eyes flicker. Then she regained her composure, lacing her fingers together and resting them in her lap. "An acceptable risk," she said calmly. Vincent felt a cold shiver run down his spine. The times when he could see what Shelke must have been like when she was still a part of Deepground were becoming alarmingly frequent, and he didn't like what he was seeing. "And I doubt that they will die through execution," she continued. "There _is_ a civil war raging within the complex at the moment."

"You shouldn't have risked their lives like that," he insisted.

"And whose life would you rather me risk? Your own?" she inquired, arching an eloquent eyebrow.

"I can take care of myself, Shelke."

The ex-Tsviet did not appear moved by statement, clipped in such a way that indicated rising irritation. "Careful," she said. "You don't want the monsters to escape, do you?"

Vincent glared at her. She didn't bat an eyelid.

"You aren't nearly as intimidating as Rosso," she informed him. "Or Nero in one of his cold rages. If you expect me to be intimidated, I'm afraid that will you have to make a much greater effort."

"I don't want you to be intimidated," growled Vincent, making an effort to rein in his temper. "I want to understand what possessed you to take such a risk with the lives of others."

"The responsibility for the situation was mine," she said quietly, with no trace of guilt. "I was trying to protect you."

"What do you mean, 'The responsibility was yours'?" demanded Yuffie, eyes narrowed in a distinctly unfriendly manner. Reeve shifted. Vincent crossed his arms.

Judging by the look in Shelke's eyes, the sun would disintegrate into a handful of coal dust before she yielded. "You don't know Nero like I do," she said coldly. "I was sure that as soon as he had sufficiently recovered, he would come after you in an attempt to avenge Weiss' death. And without Chaos still residing within your body, I was unsure that you would have the protection against his darkness that gave you the advantage in your previous fights. In order to give you at least temporary protection, I led Deepground to draw the connections between him and you." Her eyes dared them to challenge her decision.

Vincent dared. "You put me at further risk."

"You have no way of proving that," said the ex-Tsviet coldly. "You have very little experience with Nero. I had to deal with him for ten years. Without the knowledge that you were his father, he would have simply attempted to kill you." Unlacing her fingers and bracing her hands on either side of her, she said, in an uncanny imitation of Nero's accent and cadence, "'Blood ties, however recently acknowledged, are not to be lightly brushed aside.'"

Vincent ground his teeth. A man with less self-control might have started pacing.

Reeve shifted again. "Shelke, how did you get Deepground to realize the connection between Nero and Vincent?" he asked, with a cautious glance at Vincent. The ex-Turk blinked and redoubled his glare.

Shelke still did not react. "I led them to it."

"How?" That was Yuffie, sharply impatient.

"While completing my synaptic net dive into the Shinra system in order to download Professor Hojo's records, I was able to enter the Deepground system," said Shelke, voice settling into a smooth monotone that Reeve recognized as being a 'report voice'. "While there, I ran several validation checks on the records of the experiments conducted on Vincent Valentine and then on Nero's medical file."

"So you didn't just send an email to the DG system with the words, 'Vincent Valentine is Nero the Sable's father' written in block capitals?" Reeve's attempt at a joke fell very flat in the tension-laden air.

Shelke took the question at face value. "If I had stated it that blatantly," she said. "They never would have believed me. By running the validation checks I had a reason to be in the system that they were not immediately suspicious of. And by conducting both tests at the same time, I implied a connection that I was suspicious of. Naturally, this would have aroused suspicion." A slight smile twitched the corners of her mouth. "Despite this, I am certain that they ran all kinds of tests in order to validate the information."

"Did you know that Nero would postpone his decision to kill Vincent because of that knowledge?" asked Reeve carefully.

"I was not certain," said Shelke with the tiniest of shrugs. "But I believed that it was an acceptable risk."

"You lied to me," said Vincent, very calmly. Yuffie's brow furrowed in confusion; Reeve opened his mouth. Vincent cut them off. "You told me that you weren't making a dive into the Deepground system."

Shelke made no attempt to deny it. "Yes, I lied to you."

"Shelke…" said Reeve, sounding very disappointed.

"It was necessary," said the ex-Tsviet flatly. "You would have fought my decision."

"Of course we would have," scolded Reeve. "The risk –"

"– was acceptable," Shelke said, cutting him off.

"How are we supposed to trust you when you take matters into your own hands like that?"

Shelke ignored the question. "I did not risk your life by informing Nero that you were related to him, Vincent Valentine. And I did not risk your life today."

"Things were going fine before you announced your presence," growled Vincent.

"And you can blame Yuffie Kisaragi for that," observed Shelke, blue eyes flicking to the ninja for a moment. "Since she felt the need to call me at such an inopportune moment."

"Hey, don't you dare blame me for you forgetting to put your phone on silent!" exclaimed Yuffie, pointing ferociously.

Reeve blinked, and looked down at his Head of Intel. "You don't object to the fact that she followed Vincent?"

She looked up her boss, anger momentarily vanishing in favour of confusion. "I would have done it myself if I'd know where to go." She glared at Shelke. "And _I_ wouldn't have forgotten to turn off my phone."

Shelke looked back, blue eyes unreadable.

If Reeve and Vincent felt as though they were rapidly sinking into deep quicksand, they could hardly be blamed.

"So – you don't think she did the wrong thing?" Reeve asked tentatively.

"Telling Deepground was stupid," said Yuffie decidedly. "But since we should have sent back-up with Vinnie _anyway_, it's better that Shelke went along than no one."

There was a long silence.

"How did it go, anyway?" asked Reeve finally.

"Better than I expected," said Vincent, rubbing his temples with one hand. "I didn't get shot. And he didn't try to use the darkness on me."

Shelke was tapping out a thoughtful rhythm on the desk.

"Something wrong?" asked Vincent with a hint of spite. Shelke ignored him. After a long moment, Vincent continued, "We didn't have the chance to talk much. But we did get as far as settling the fact that he doesn't want to kill me at this point."

"And that you both hated Professor Hojo," murmured Shelke, eyes distant.

Yuffie blinked and leant forward. "You and Freak-face _agreed_ on something?"

Vincent felt slightly affronted. "Yes, we agreed."

Yuffie whistled softly. Reeve's lips twitched in an amused smile. "Well, that certainly is better than we expected of such a meeting," he said.

Shelke fingers continued their tapping. "Admittedly, my appearance may have broken trust," she said. "But we may not have to worry about that."

"And why not?" demanded Vincent.

"Because the only reason that I can think of for Deepground to suddenly break ranks like this is because they resent the fact that Nero turned command over to Argent. She was respected as an Instructor, but she doesn't have the power to hold the soldiers together. And if that is the case, then it is likely that both Nero and Argent will die in the near future," Shelke concluded.

Vincent looked away as he struggled with a sudden flash of concern for his son. "I'm sure that he can handle himself," he growled, more roughly than he intended. He felt Yuffie and Reeve's eyes on him, surprised.

Shelke's face was unreadable. "Perhaps." After a moment, she said, "If you wish to retrieve your surveillance team… This may be your best opportunity. There will be chaos within the complex."

"Walking into a Deepground civil war…" Reeve sounded uneasy; Vincent couldn't blame him. "I don't think that anyone would volunteer for such a dangerous mission. The risk of being discovered –"

"It would be difficult," Shelke conceded. "But not impossible. A small strike team would be required."

"Me and Vincent," suggested Yuffie. "Me for sneaking and Vincent for dealing with anyone we run into. Not that I can't handle myself, being a super-cool ninja and all." She looked over to the ex-Turk, who nodded slowly.

"That sounds reasonable." He turned to Shelke, deciding that he could bury the hatchet for now. "Do you think you can get us a map of the complex? I didn't see any cells the last time I was there."

Shelke smiled coldly. "I can do better that," she said. "I'll come with you."

* * *

Nero looked over at the soldiers who had remained after the battle, and very nearly winced.

"This isn't going to work," he muttered, glancing down the corridor.

"Do you have a better strategy?" asked Argent. Nero chose to ignore the snippy tone her voice, the situation being what it was. "If this is all the support we have, then we cannot do much more than stay alive and hope that we can outlast them."

"Even a tenth of our forces is enough to overwhelm us," pointed out Nero. "That was why we had you bring as many of the soldiers as possible over to our side before we staged the coup."

"I'm aware of that," said Argent coldly. "But as long as we do not leave any survivors, it will take them some time to discover our location…"

"Until we have a traitor infiltrate our midst, which, given that we are all wearing the same uniforms, will not be difficult."

"Do you have a better strategy?" she repeated fiercely.

"I think we should get more support," he said simply.

"And just who –" She stopped short. Thought for a moment. Then, nodded slowly. "That could work."

Nero smiled coldly. "Then we're in agreement. It shouldn't take much to convince them that it really is in their best interests to join us – at least for now."

Argent returned the smile. "Indeed." She flexed her hands and looked out over the soldiers. Luckily, those who had survived had suffered only minor injuries. Of course, in Deepground, the definition of 'minor injury' was considerably different to a normal aboveground definition – in Deepground, if you could stand and point a gun, then the injury was minor and you were still fit for battle. "Soldiers, we're relocating."

They formed weary ranks and saluted.

With Argent at the front and Nero bringing up the rear, they set off down the corridor.

* * *

The cells were quiet, and the W.R.O. surveillance unit did not like it one little bit. Admittedly, their stay had mainly been quiet – however, the quiet that followed ten minutes of gunshots (which had set many of the captives cringing and making peace with whatever higher powers they believed in) was not comforting. Roughly half of the team believed that they were now abandoned and they would die of starvation. The other half was equally certain that it was only a matter of time before a soldier would come along to execute them.

Which was why, when the door suddenly slid open and Argent the Silver walked in, half of the people within looked hopeful and the remainder looked grimly resigned.

"Well," said one of them. "Go on. Get it over with."

"Kill you?" asked Argent with one raised eyebrow. "After all the trouble we've gone to in order to ensure your survival? Don't be ridiculous." She surveyed the room. "Get up. We'll pick up weapons for you on the way."

As one, the inhabitants of the room blinked. "Excuse me?" said one.

"_What?_" said another.

"Your messenger performed her task admirably," said Argent. "Therefore, you are to be freed. Unfortunately, we're currently suffering from some unrest among the soldiers, so in order to reach the surveillance line posted outside of Midgar, you are probably going to need to fight."

"'Some unrest'," repeated the first speaker flatly. "Define 'some unrest'."

"I would," said Argent dryly. "If I knew the extent of it. I don't. Therefore, I can't."

"So, basically, so many of your soldiers have turned on you that you can't even get an accurate report."

"In blunt terms."

Nero sauntered into the room. "You can remain here if you choose to," he said calmly. "But it will only be a matter of time before our miscreant forces come down here to execute you. Your continued survival was, as I understand it, a bone of contention." Red eyes flicked from one face to another. "However, if you come with us, we will do our best to guarantee your safety."

For a long moment, there was total silence. Then the first speaker said, "Is this some kind of trick?"

"I'm not sure that it would be possible for us to prove our good intentions," said Nero dryly. "You can stay or go as you choose."

More than a few of the soldiers got up. They obviously felt that it would be easier on the nerves to take their chances outside the cell than stay and wait to be slaughtered. Nero stepped aside to let them pass before regarding those who remained.

"Anyone else?"

No one stood up.

Argent shrugged. "Suit yourselves." She walked out of the room. Nero followed her.

The door slid shut behind them.

* * *

**Notes:** Hi guys! Miss me? I apologize for the immense delay in writing/posting this chapter, and sincerely hope that I'll never get that far out of the groove again. I blame Shelkero for my semi-hiatus by the way. At the risk of sounding childish: it ate my brain. I'm hoping that it will back off long enough for me to finish this story!

To my reviewers: **No one specific**, **Orion-x**, **little dog**, **Dark Raion**, **Imperial Lung**, **KenYasha**, **Fork In The Road**, **Aemeath**, **Kiki-sama**, **Silver Tears 11**, **NRGBurst**, **shu** and the epic and amazing **Smiley-Faceless** – I really, really cannot express how much I love you guys. Over 100 reviews! No fic of mine has ever reached that before. I'm so happy.

Oh, and a final note. Well, more a pimping, really. Go to my profile. You will see, under the direction to Blacklight, 'YOU MUST READ THIS. SRSLY.' You must, seriously, go read the linked drabble. Because **Smiley-Faceless** has mad skillz, and 'Unhealthy' is utterly, utterly perfect. She'd be thrilled if you left her a comment (hint hint).

'Til next time, guys, and hopefully it will be soon.


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